


Opportunity Knocks

by WhereDestiniesMeet17 (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Banshee Lydia Martin, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Come Eating, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Horror, Human Scott McCall, M/M, Marking, Monster of the Week, Multi, POV Third Person Plural, Possessive Behavior, Psychic Stiles Stilinski, Scent Marking, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Sexual Content, Shower Sex, Snark, Vomiting, Young Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:24:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 62,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2283402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/WhereDestiniesMeet17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At that moment, something moved across the yard. His heart kicked up, fear making him flail and latch back onto the fence. He sucked in a deep breath and repeated to himself, <i>don't freak out, don't freak out. It's just a shadow. It isn't a murderer or house owner looking to kill you. Just turn and look and you'll see it's nothing but a trick of the eye. </i></p><p>Stiles turned his head ever so slightly more to the side, ignoring how Scott held up his hand to show the splinter wedged in his palm. His eyes cast back to the shadow, and yep, his first instinct was correct. There was definitely someone in the fucking yard with them.</p><p>-</p><p>Or, the one where Stiles dives head first into a supernatural shit storm and drags everyone he knows down with him. And he takes up with Peter Hale of all people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for blood, gore, graphic violence, vomiting, explicit sex scenes, on-screen murder, and cannibalism. Stay safe, sweethearts, and use discretion.

Stiles woke up three minutes before the phone rang. He blinked up at the ceiling, trying to shake off the goosebumps that were breaking out all across his skin. He sat up in the dark, becoming aware of the taste of dirt in his mouth. He used his shirt to scrub his tongue, too lazy to get up and get something to drink. He blinked, trying to remember what had woken him up in he first place, if it had been a dream or a strange noise.

He startled when the phone rang. By time he kicked off the covers and padded barefooted down the hall, his father was already awake and talking on the phone. The house was chilly for mid-fall and it was still dark outside. He could hear his father getting dressed, while telling dispatch he was on his way.

Stiles rubbed his eyes, stepping into the brutal light coming from his father's bedroom. He shielded them, scrunching up his face in discomfort.

His voice was rough with sleep when he asked, "What's going on, Dad?"

"Go back to bed, Stiles." The sheriff said, buckling his belt. He grabbed his uniform shirt, buttoning it up with deft fingers. 

Stiles leaned against the door jam with a yawn. "Come on, you know I won't be able to sleep, what with worrying about you and all."

The sheriff paused to look at him as he fixed his cuffs. "I know you. You'll be wondering what interesting call pulled me out of the house and if you can stick your nose in it."

Stiles pursed his lips. "I don't do that." He protested.

"Un-huh," John hummed, shoving his feet into his shoes. He bent and yanked the strings tight, tying them in a double knot.

"How long will you be gone?"

"Probably all night."

"What for?" Stiles asked, straightening up. "Car wreck?"

"Stiles," John warned. He stood and pulled on his coat before hurrying to the safe half hidden in the closet. He opened it, taking out his gun and badge.

"Amber alert? Hostage situation? Murder?" He rattled off.

His father pinned him with a look as he hooked his badge in his shirt. He slide his gun in the holster at his hip, making him look like a badass. When Stiles was younger he use to brag about the fact that his father was a cop. When John ran for Sheriff, Stiles had been the one to hammer signs and post flyers, dragging Scott along the entire way.

"You have school tomorrow."

Stiles felt an excited grin try to take his face. "Is it a murder? Do you know who it is? How did it happen? Where did they find the body?"

"Stiles," his father groaned, rubbing his tired face. "If I tell you, will you go back to sleep?"

Stiles nodded, throwing up a few fingers. "Scout's honor."

"You got thrown out of Boy Scouts because you started making fraudulent badges." The sheriff sighed. "That means nothing to me."

Stiles frowned, letting out a small, "hey," of indignation. 

"A woman went looking for her dog when it didn't come back after using the bathroom and instead found what looks to bea young woman's body."

"Looks? As in, might not be? Maybe isn't recognizable? What happened?"

"They do not know, that's kinda why they called me." The sheriff drawled, walking towards the door.

Stiles jumped and smiled a little. He darted past him, grabbing his coat from the bed and thrusting it at him. "Go on then, catch the big bad lunatic killing people. By any chance, could you tell me where this happened?"

The sheriff grabbed the coat, shrugging it on. He shook his head as he fixed the collar. "Absolutely not. Go to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay, okay. I'm going to bed." He waved his hands around his head.

Stiles followed him to the landing of the stairs. His father trotted down the stairs, his footsteps loud in the dark household. John waved as he went out the door, locking it behind him. Stiles waited until he heard the cruiser pull out of the drive and blue and red lights started to seep through the curtains. The siren came after that, ear splitting and painful.

Stiles didn't go back to bed. Instead, he grabbed his phone and called Scott.

"Get your ass up. They just found a dead body."

-

Scott glared at him from the passenger seat. His hair, devoid of gel, flopped in front of his face, making him look like a shaggy puppy. Or like he did in sophomore year. Scott pushed it back, but it only stayed for a moment before slapping his forehead.

"Why did I agree to this?" Scott asked the interior of the jeep. "Why did I think this was a good idea? Do you even know where we're going?"

"Because I'm awesome, this is exciting, and I called Tara to ask where my dad was. She said he was handling a call of Brook Street, so that must be where the body is."

"We do this every time a body shows up." Scott sighed. "It always turns out to be some dumb animal attack, and then the Hales or the Argents take care of."

"One is a group of gun bearing nut jobs-no offense to Allison- and the other is a group of reclusive assholes that live deep in the woods and only comes out to be sarcastic little shits and ruin my life."

"You're doing that thing where you talk about a group, but you actually only mean one person." Scott sighed, always the long suffering best friend.

"Peter can kiss my ass," Stiles declared, then turned the corner.

Between the houses, he could see red and blue lights from the police cruisers. He pulled over, keeping under the shadow of a tree and away from street lights. Stiles didn't want any of his father's deputies seeing his jeep.  He unbuckled, reaching over the seat to fish for a small flashlight. He didn't have any intention of using it, but he had learned two things from his stint with the Boy Scouts: one, always be prepared and two, don't get caught.

-

They ended up going through an alley between two bricks houses and jumping the fence into a backyard. The yard was only a little to the right of the crime scene, the cruisers' lights illuminating the houses every few seconds. Stiles landed on a squeaky toy and had a split second of 'oh shit I'm dead' before he realized that the yard wasn't filled with guard dogs. It was full of toys though. The house was either home to a lot of children, or the owner ran a low budget daycare center.

Scott landed beside him with a thump and they scurried across the yard, avoiding plastic barbies missing hair and hard action figures wielding fake guns. Scott accidentally kicked a ball across the yard, sending it sailing over a neighboring fence. It hit the ground with flashing lights and a soft 'ehhhh' sound.

"Scott," Stiles hissed.

"Sorry," he whispered back, shrugging sheepishly.

They approached the fence made of solid wood planks. Kids had painted the inside with flowers, the only ones in the yard. On the other side of the fence were tall hedges. Scott and Stiles climbed up on the horizontal two by four, which served as the rail to which the planks where nailed. Leaning over, they parted the hedges and looked through.

The first thing that Stiles saw was crime scene tape. The second was his father, kneeling down next to a woman. He couldn't see her face, but the unsettling lack of movement from her told him she was dead. His father ran his hand over his face and through his hair, Parrish coming to stand beside him. There were a lot of police cars and a single ambulance with dim lights. A few of the neighbors crowed around the tape, talking in hushed murmurs.

The wind carried a chill and the thick scent of iron. It settled in the back of his throat, familiar from his grandmother cooking beef livers, but sickly and out of place in his hometown. He wrinkled his nose and tried to breathe only through his mouth.

"Ow," Scott hissed.

"What?" Stiles startled, twisting his head to look.

At that moment, something moved across the yard. His heart kicked up, fear making him flail and latch back onto the fence. He sucked in a deep breath and repeated to himself, _don't freak out, don't freak out. It's just a shadow. It isn't a murderer or house owner looking to kill you. Just turn and look and you'll see it's nothing but a trick of the eye._

Stiles turned his head ever so slightly more to the side, ignoring how Scott held up his hand to show the splinter wedged in his palm. His eyes cast back to the shadow, and yep, his first instinct was correct. There was definitely someone in the fucking yard with them.

Stiles didn't scream, he didn't even breathe for a moment. Instead, he leaned close to Scott, as if to inspect the splinter. He nodded in jerks, cutting his eyes repeatedly back to the shadow. Scott frowned at him.

"What?" He asked.

"Scott," he hissed, then did the quick glance again.

Scott froze, going on high alert. He gave a glance and jumped. All the color drained form his face. They both turned to look at the crime scene as one.

"What do we do?" Scott whispered.

"Run for it." Stiles whispered back.

"And what," Scott hissed, "are we supposed to do if it turns out to be the killer?"

"Run faster." Stiles suggested.

"Why do I let you get me into these situations?"

Stiles wanting to clap him on the back, but he didn't dare move. "Who else would be stupid enough to come with me? We split up on three, winner gets my dad, loser hopes not to die."

"That is a terrible idea." Scott snapped.

Stiles didn't disagree. He glanced back once, then rushed out, "one two three."

Stiles shoved away from the fence, hit the ground, and took off running. Scott followed a beat behind, twisting left when Stiles went right.

Each of them hit the neighboring fence at the same time. Scott scrambled over, hitting the ground with a grunt, and was up like a shot. Stiles went over his in a flail of limbs and  with panicked _oh shit, oh shit, oh shit_ thoughts.

Stiles glanced back one time and saw the shift of darkness that signaled the thing giving chase. It twisted towards him , coming fast.

Stiles didn't look back again.

-

Stiles made it over four fences before the thing was suddenly in front of him, one hand out stretched. He skidded, arms cartwheeling as he tried to back pedal. It didn't help.

He plowed into it going full speed, chest first. It felt like running to a brick wall. The air whooshed out of his lungs as he collapsed to the ground. He hit the ground hard, his back making full contact. 

Black dots popped up in his vision as he tried to suck air into his lungs, to get his body to start working again. The thing leaned over him as he tried to gasp and Stiles saw it's face.

Its skin was yellow and wrinkled, like old, crumpled notebook paper. It had no lips, the skin pulled taunt over sharp, brittle teeth. They looked broken and jagged, and sporadically placed inside its mouth. Its eyes were a deep violet color, like lilacs and lavender. Its breath ghosted over Stiles' face as it leaned close, hand reaching for his chest. Stiles caught his first breath. It tasted foul on his tongue, like death.

Long fingers tripped in claws touched his chest and pain exploded across Stiles' skin. Stiles' tried to knock its hand away, but found he couldn't move. The pressure became unbearable and Stiles thought it was going to crush the life out of him and then it was gone.  Stiles blinked away the pain and stared up at the thing, who was no longer looking at him. 

Then the thing's was staring off into the dark. The thing took one last look at him, then turned and fled. It's departure was a near silent scratch of sharp nails on dirt and wood.

Stiles went limp, sprawling across the grass. The cops came spilling into the yard, guns drawn and flashlights pointed. Stiles squinted and held up his hand, getting unsteadily to his feet. It wasn't hard to spot his father. The lecture brewed like storm clouds and Stiles' shook in relief. 

-

"What the hell were you thinking?" John demanded, stalking back and forth.

Stiles followed his movements with his eyes, clutching the ice pack to his chest and the shock blanket around his shoulders. Scott slumped against the ambulance doors, trying to make himself look small and guilt ridden. He was doing a much better job than Stiles. 

"I was thinking about what a wonderful father you are." Stiles tried hopefully.  

John glared at him. "I told you to go to bed."

"I did," Stiles defended. He shifted under his father's hard gaze. "Earlier tonight."

"Do you have any idea how much danger you put yourself and Scott in?"

"You guys were only a few yards away. It wasn't like it had time to kill me or anything."

"He butchered that girl less than a hundred feet from four houses and no one heard. It looks like a fucking animal ripped into her. If we had been a few minutes later, what do you think he could have done to you?"

"It," Stiles murmured.

 "What?" John stopped long enough to ask. His face was going red with rage. His hands, which had been steady all through the night, were suddenly shaking. Why did his kid insist on getting involved in this shit?

Stiles dropped his gaze. "Nothing, just forget it."

John gritted his teeth and turned to Scott. "You," he began and watched Scott's expression turn panicked. He looked like he wanted to ask, 'who me?'. "You are suppose to be the voice of reason when Stiles gets it into his head to do something stupid."

"I tried to be," Scott insisted. "He wouldn't listen."

"Yeah! And we have a rule were we don't let the other do something stupid by themselves, in case they end up hurt." Stiles finished. 

The sheriff ran his hand down his face, eyes closed, expression pained. "If you know it's dangerous, why do you do it?"

"It seems reasonable at the time." Stiles shrugged. 

The sheriff looked ready to start tearing his hair out in frustration when Parrish walked up. John looked at him in question.

"No sign," he reported. "Whoever it was is long gone."

"Damn it," John sighed.  "Any footprints?"

"No, but I did spot some scratches on one of the fences. I asked Rodriguez to look it over and pull some samples. Maybe the guy had cleats on and we'll be able to get a trace on him."

"God, I hope so."

Parrish glanced away from his father, looking at Stiles and Scott. "Did either of you get a good look at the guy?"

Scott shook his head. "It was too dark."

"Stiles?"

Stiles shrugged. "He knocked me on my ass and took off. Besides saying he has the complexion of a corpse and is fucking ugly, I can't really help you."

Parrish nodded like he expected as much. "Sheriff?" He asked. "I'm going to go and finish talking to the neighbors. Do you need anything else?"

"No, thank you, Parrish." John dismissed. 

Parrish nodded, then headed back towards the dwindling crowd. John scanned the scene for only a second before turning back to Scott and Stiles. He pointed a finger at them, giving them a hard stare.

"Go home," he ordered. "And if I find out you so much as stopped for gas, I will take your keys and you'll be riding the bus to school."

"Hey!" Stiles started, but John silenced him with a look.

He turned back at Scott. "I will be talking to Melissa," he warned.

Scott swallowed, but nodded. He stood up straight, reaching out to grab Stiles. Stiles got to his feet with a wince, keeping the ice pack with him. Scott followed him as he started to walk past. Stiles paused, looking at his dad.

"What if I really, really need gas?"

Scott shoved him along before he could make his father blow a gasket.

-

The drive back to the McCall house was long and quiet. Stiles could feel Scott glancing at him every few seconds. Sometimes, he was sure Scott was about to ask him a question. The rest of the time, he was convinced the only thing keep Scott from throttling him was that he was driving.

They were two minutes away from Scott's house when Stiles got tired of the long, silent stares.

"Scott, I will shove you out of my moving vehicle if you don't stop."

"Stop what?" Scott asked.

"Giving me those disappointed, worried looks. I get enough of those from my grandmother, thank you."

"Sorry," Scott said.

He stopped long enough for them to pull up next to the curb and for Stiles to shift into park. Then Scott turned the full force of his soulful  'I'm terribly worried about you gaze' onto him.

"You're sure you're okay?" He asked.

"I'm fine, Scotty, now get out of my damn car before I throttle you."

"Okay," Scott said, opening the door. He stopped with only one foot on the ground and turned back around. "What did he really look like?"

Stiles paused. He trusted Scott with his life, he could trust him with the truth. He licked his lips and said, "it didn't look human."

Scott nodded and finished getting out of the car. He was watching from the porch when Stiles drove away.

-

It took fifteen minutes to get back to his house. Stiles parked in the garage, terrified by the thought of walking through the dark. It was catching up to him, the fear that had gone deathly quiet the second he had seen its face. Stiles made his way into the house and up the stairs, heading to his bathroom. He shut the door behind himself, throwing the lock. Then he stripped out of his shirts, until he was standing half naked.

He leaned close to the mirror and got a good look at the bruise on his chest, the one the EMT had treated with a bag of ice and the strict command not to play any sports.

It was already a livid red color, darker in the middle. He stared at it for a moment, tracing the edges. It was directly over his sternum. It throbbed every time he breathed, with every beat of his heart.

It was hard to believe it was made with nothing more a hand. 

His eyes kept getting drawn back to the center, to the oddly darker part in the center. He tilted his head to the side. He blinked twice and realized that it almost looked like a sideways six.

-

Talia Hale stood next to Chris Argent, watching as the police finished processing the last of the scene. Chris was white lipped. He smelled angry and resigned. Before Beacon Hills, his life had been simple and straight forward. He killed those that would kill others. Back then, it had been creatures killing humans.

His father had fucked over that perception. Beacon Hills had done the rest.

"Any idea what it is?" He asked.

Talia took a deep breath, scenting the air. It was hard to pick apart all the mingling scents. There had been a lot of people to pass through since the girl had been killed. They had washed the scent away almost as well as a rain storm could.

She kept going, trying to get to the one she needed. She got stuck on the smell of Doritos and cat hair.

"The scent is too long gone." She said, trying to figure out where she knew the other from. "I will set up some new patrols, see if we can't find a trail in the preserve."

Chris nodded. "I'll go the morgue, see what we are dealing with. I'll call you when I have something."

"I'll talk to Deaton. He may be willing to share with us." She agreed. She paused, feeling her lips quirk up as the familiar scent dawned on her. "Chris," she began. "Is your daughter still seeing that McCall boy?"

Chris sighed. He added talking to Scott to his ever growing list of problems.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles grabbed at the handle. His sweaty hand slid off, jostling the table. He shook himself, grabbing it firmly. He started turned it, pushing the drawer back into the cabinet. 
> 
> He made the mistake of looking down at her one last time. Her eyes were open.

Stiles was sitting in his jeep outside of Scott's house the following morning. He watched Scott stumble out and off the porch, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Stiles rolled his, reaffirming the belief that sleep was for the weak. All he needed was his Adderall and two liters of Mt. Dew and he was good for twelve hours.

Coincidentally, that was exactly what was keeping him from diving face first into his steering wheel and taking a long nap.

Scott climbed into the jeep, looked at Stiles, and deflated. "We're not going to school, are we?"

"How could we when we have a civil duty to fulfill?" Stiles asked,  grinning.

He waited for Scott to buckle up before turning on his blinker and pulling away from the curb. He clicked on his windshield wipers, but it only helped the passenger side. The driver side continued to be a splatter of small rain drops and mist from passing cars. Stiles was missing a windshield wiper again. Scott never knew exactly where it went and Stiles always refused to answer.

"What civil duty?" Scott dared to ask.

"Finding the killer, of course." Stiles responded, shifting in his seat. His hair was damp from running in the rain. He smelled like he had rolled around in the grass, so Scott assumed he had taken a quick shower.

Scott tossed his bag into the backseat and loosened his seat belt. He was sighing on the inside when he asked, "Why can't you ever just let the police handle it?"

"The police are not prepared to deal with monsters." Stiles scoffed.

"And we are?" Scott countered with a raised eyebrow.

"Obviously," Stiles declared. "I was up all night researching."

"And what did you find?"

Stiles shrugged and kept his eyes on the road. "It's either a vampire or an alien."

"Are you fucking serious?" Scott demanded in exasperation.

"No, but that was the general consensus I got. I couldn't find much, but I think I'll have better luck once I know what exactly happened to the victim."

Scott processed that for a minute. Stiles crossed his fingers and hoped he wouldn't figure out how he was going to do it, at least until after it was too late to turn back.

Stiles wasn't that lucky. 

"No!" Scott exploded. "No, Stiles. We are not going to the morgue."

"We have to." Stiles insisted. He waved his hands, trying to articulate just how much they had to while also keeping the jeep on the road.

"If we get caught, my mom could lose her job." Scott stressed.

"We're not going to get caught."  
   
"We always get caught."

"This time I have a plan."

Scott paused. "Really?"

Stiles glanced at him, slapping his knee. He looked back at the road and blew through a yellow light. Scott turned in his seat to stare him down. Stiles glanced at him out if the corner of his eye. Scott kept staring. 

"Okay," Stiles caved. "More or less."

Scott flopped back in his seat. He didn't say anything for a long moment. "If we get caught, I'm telling them you threatened me."

"And I'm going to claim temporary insanity." Stiles nodded.

"You are insane," Scott sighed.

-

The parking lot was relatively empty for a Tuesday morning. The rain dampened the sound of traffic. The wind shifted, blowing the rain into their faces as they headed for the door. Stiles kicked his way through a pile of damp, multicolored leaves on the way.

The trees were dropping leaves like it was going out of style. The temperature hadn't started to drop, but the trees seemed convinced that it would soon enough. 

The automatic doors hissed as they hurried inside. Scott dragged his feet over the thick, black mat. Stiles flicked his fingers, sending a spray of droplets to the floor. Then he was shrugging his shoulders and marching into the hospital, like he actually had business being there.

Scott trudged after him, ducking his head to avoid looking at any of the nurses. Most of them only worked first shift, so he had hope his visit wouldn't get back to his mother. He still had the Sheriff's talk to look forward to.

Stiles stopped about three feet from the door that lead towards morgue and ambulance bay. Stiles stopped with his hand on the door. They both looked around, checking to make sure no one was around to see them. Stiles did a full body shake, as if he was steeling himself. He pushed the door open, then turned back.

"You keep watch. If someone comes, give me a signal."

"What kind of signal?"

"A smoke signal," Stiles drawled. He threw up his hands. "Send me a text or something."

Scott nodded. "You got it. Now hurry up."

Stiles took the time to say, "I love when you get all bossy."

Scott shoved him through the door. Then Scott stepped away from it, faking interest in the dull paintings that hung from the wall. He couldn't keep himself from fidgeting. 

-

The hall was an endless white stretch. The floor reflected the lights and the ceiling was the same shade as the floor. The walls were mirror images of each other, white with brown and green speckles. The chair rail was a faded beige and only broken when a door sudden cropped up.

Stiles hurried down the disorienting hallway, keeping his eyes focused on the little name plaques. He hadn't realized that so much of the hospital's vital parts were on the first floor. He passed the laundry room, then a janitor's closet. He passed the stairs to the basement,  before turning a sharp corner.

On the right was the morgue. On the left was another hallway that led to ambulance bay. He glanced down the hallway, and then pushed his way into the morgue, easing the heavy door shut.

The morgue had the same sharp scent as the rest of the hospital. It smelled liked disinfectants and had a painfully sterile look to it. It reminded Stiles of room 234. He took a few deep breaths through his mouth, then looked around.

There were two tables, each headed by sinks. They were scrubbed cleaned the previous night, any the blood washed away. A stool was pushed under one table. On the counter behind to it was a small picture of a woman with green eyes. She pouted at the camera,  arms folded over her chest. Her belly button showed, and her jeans rode low.

Stiles swept his gaze past it, shifting uncomfortably. The drawers were all locked, instruments put away. He passed them, heading for the brown office door. He turned the knob, and it opened.

He looked over his shoulder at the cold storage chambers. He doubted people within were going to get up and walk away, so he had time.

The office was just as clean as the front room. The desk had a legal pad, a name plaque which read Thomas Lee, two pens, and two boxes. One was labeled In, the other labeled Out. The In box was full.

Stiles thumbed through the pages quickly, but they were all requests and notices. Stiles circled the desk, starting by rifling through the draws. There were only two, one on each side of the rather small desk. The right one was locked.

The left one grinded and squealed when he opened it. Inside, there were beige folders, discarded pencils, and crumpled paper. He picked through it, carefully smoothing out the pages and opening the folders. The first page had a doodle of a table, the second was a game of hangman, and the third was a note to pick up milk. Stiles crushed them in his fist, dropping them back in the drawer, where it seemed Dr. Lee swept his desk when he needed it clean up in a hurry.

Stiles shoved the drawer close and started looking around the room. There was a window, half hidden by a Japanese Peace Lily. The other side was mostly covered by a green hedge, with dead leaves stuck in the branches.

On the other side of the room was a wall with a single motivational poster. Stiles found it less than amusing that the only thing the poster said was, 'at least you're not dead.'

"If I was a filing cabinet, where would I be?" Stiles mused, spinning in the chair.

It made the room blur together in a rush of colors, like when he drove fast in his jeep. He did it again, biting his lip as he thought. He stopped abruptly, staring at the door. He slapped himself on the forehead, then closed the door to get to the filing cabinet. 

-

Scott felt like he was being hypnotized. He had been staring at the painting for three minutes and it was almost like his brain had shut down. If he hadn't kept his mouth shut, he was sure he would be drooling.

Stiles needed to hurry up. There was only so long Scott could look at the painting of a covered bridge before he did something drastic. Or before one of the nurses caught him.

"Scott?"

-

The filing cabinet was locked. Stiles glared at it, as if that would fix the problem. He rattled the handle, pulling with all his might. 

"Come on, open for Stiles," he commanded, using both hands to pull. He pressed his foot to the bottom, using it as leverage as he leaned back.

The whole filing cabinet started to lean with him.

"No, no, no," Stiles shouted, scrambling to right it. He dropped his foot and shoved with his shoulder.

The cabinet fell back into place with a resounding thump, rocking from side a few times. Stiles hugged it, breathing heavy, heart pounding. He reached down, pulling at the drawer. It was, of course, still locked.

"Shit," Stiles said. His gaze was drawn to the cold storage chambers outside the office. "Shit." He repeated with feeling.

-

Scott did a full body spasm before turning around.

"Mr. Argent, what are you doing here?" Scott blurted.

He tried to do the blank face that Stiles had perfected, but he ended up looking terrified and like he really needed to piss.

Chris was wearing his cargo jacket, which meant he was there on unofficial animal control business. He didn't even work for animal control.  It was always weird how either he or  the Hales handled the killer animals long before animal control got a chance. They were always the ones putting down the starving mountain lions or the feral dogs.

"I was going to ask you that," Chris said with a raised eyebrow.

"Uh," Scott glanced the painting. "I was looking at this painting."

"The painting?" Chris asked.

He had the look he got when he knew someone was feeding him bullshit. It was pretty similar to the one the sheriff wore at least fifty percent of the time he was around Stiles.

"Yeah," Scott nodded vigorously.  He had to fight to keep his head from ducking guiltily. "It's just so.... So colorful and realistic. The art really, uh, captured the total," Scott waved his hands, fighting for the words. "Bridgeness of the bridge."

"I didn't realize you were such an art connoisseur, Scott," Chris drawled. Scott wasn't sure if he believed Scott, or if Chris was just giving him room so Scott could hang himself.

"Oh yeah," Scott kept nodding. "Paintings are nice to look at."

"Maybe you and Allison should go to an art museum some time,"  Chris suggested. 

Oh God, no. Scott would rather have detention with Harris than do that. Hell, he would rather get married to Coach Finstock.

"Yeah," was what he said instead.

"Yeah," Chris echoed back. Then, "preferably not during school." 

Scott jumped, looking at his bare wrist. "It's eight?" He asked.

"Closer to nine," Chris responded. 

"Wow, I gotta go," Scott started one way, then the other. He turned again, going to walk by Chris.

Chris held up his hand, stopping him.

"Let's cut the shit, Scott. What exactly are you doing here?" He continued when Scott tried to speak. "What," he said, "were you doing at the crime scene last night?"

-

The refrigerator was chrome colored, and showed a warped reflection of the room. Stiles crept closer, dragging his feet.  Stiles read the paper plaques with information on them, ducking to see the lower ones.

There were only six bodies, so he quickly found the girl. Her named was Tessa Burns, age twenty-five. The cause of death was listed as an animal attack. He scoffed, settling his hand on the handle.

He steeled himself and pulled the drawer open. The table rolled out easily, but loudly.

She wasn't covered in a sheet. In fact, she wasn't covered at all. Her clothes, what was left of them, had been removed. If she had been wearing jewelry, it had been taken as well. She had been stripped to her skin by the corner, and a little further by the monster.

Stiles closed his eyes, fighting back the wave of nausea. He swallowed thickly and forced himself to look.

She had been a pretty red head in life. Her hair curled thickly around her face, a few strands laying across her checks. Her lips were parted as if in a final gasp. He could see prefect, straight teeth, that were stained with blood. Her eyes were closed, as if she was asleep. Her expression was still frozen in horror and disbelief.

He couldn't tell if the coroner had already preformed the autopsy. There weren't any straight cuts from a scalpel, weren't any stitches that formed a large "Y'. There wasn't any need.

Her chest had been clawed open. It was the only way to describe the way her skin hung in ribbons, the way her muscles  were cut apart. Her sternum, the single bit of white in the mess of blood and sinew, had been cracked open.

Stiles turned his head, fighting not to gag. He needed her out of his sight, needed her not the be real. He violently wished he hadn't come, that he had stayed at home the night before. Seeing her, seeing how she had been laid open, was making the bruise on his chest throb, was making his skin pickle with cold sweat and fear.

Looking at her was like looking at himself if his father had been a few minutes later.  
Stiles grabbed at the handle. His sweaty hand slid off, jostling the table. He shook himself, grabbing it firmly. He started turned it, pushing the drawer back into the cabinet.

He made the mistake of looking down at her one last time. Her eyes were open.

-

Doctor Thomas Lee was thirty minutes late for work. He swore, cutting off a woman in a green van. She threw up her middle finger as he passed, lips forming the words, 'fucker'. He returned the gesture over his shoulder, speeding through a red light.

He had the healthy glow of a man who had recently gotten his rocks off. Sheryl, his girlfriend of three months, had a tendency to wake up ready to go. That morning, she had rolled over and slapped a hand on his chest. He had woke up with a start, one hand fumbling for the bedside drawer.

It went where you'd expect. 

Lee grinned to himself as he pulled into the hospital parking lot. He glanced towards the door, checking to see if Lisa Herts was waiting for him. She was.

He grimaced, he didn't need to be caught again. She wasn't exactly the type of boss who would let him get away with murder.

He glanced at the underground parking deck and his grin came back. He could cut through the ambulance bay and be in his office before she even thought to check.

Maybe he wouldn't get caught after all.

-

Stiles reeled back, head spinning. He staggered, slamming into the cabinets.  They rattled as if the people inside were alive, were kicking and pounding against the metal. They were begging to be let out, begging for this not be the end.

Stiles clapped his hands over his ears, stumbling away from them. His eyes were locked onto hers. A shadow was looming behind them, like a cloud over the sun. His heart pounded in his chest, beckoning the creature. He dropped his arms, wrapping them around his torso, protecting his heart from any threats.

He was protecting it from being clawed out, just like Tessa's.

The creature had come out of the dark, but it hadn't surprised Tessa. She had froze, hands flying up to her chest, where she had been marked by a jaunty nine with a tadpole tail. She had been terrified and had tried to scream, but it had looked at her with dead eyes and her voice had been lost. Its teeth had gleamed, then it was on her.

It clawed at her chest with finger nails that were long and thin, like talons. Then it was over.

Stiles tore his eyes away, shoving the drawer shut the few final inches. It closed with a click, the silence ringing through the room.

Stiles backed away quickly, feet tripping over each other. The lights were too bright, a headache pounding in his temples and forehead. Stiles turned and ran from the room, the doors swinging open and shut behind him. He didn't go back towards Scott, but ran for exit.

He pushed his way out with shaking hands.  
-

"What?" Scott asked. He fumbled for an explanation, for anything that didn't sound stupid or guilty. "I thought it was an animal attack," he blurted.

"So, you were there last night?" Chris questioned.

"I-" Scott stuttered. "I might have been."

Fuck, did he have to be so intimidating?

"You don't know?"

"No. I mean yes."

"Yes, you're sure, or yes, you were there?"

"No," Scott shook his head. "Yes. Both?"

Chris sounded frustrated when he spoke. "Which is it, Scott?"

Scott swallowed. "I was there last night."

"And did you see anything?"

"Like what?" Scott was genuinely bewildered. He whispered, "like the killer or something?"

"Or something."

Scott furrowed his eyebrows, getting the confused puppy look. "I don't understand," he started.

That was when Scott's phone started to ring.

-

"Dude, get out here, now." Stiles demanded.

He tried to unlock his jeep door and ended up dropping his keys. He swore, bending over to pick them up. He tucked the phone against his ear, using his shoulder. He wrapped both hands around the key and managed to unlock the door.

"I'm kinda stuck in the middle of something." Scott replied. "Can you wait?"

Stiles climbed into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind him. He jammed the key into the ignition. His baby roared to life with a turn of the key.

"No. If you're not out here in a minute, I'm leaving you behind."

"But-"

"The clock is ticking. I swear I will leave."

"Okay, okay, I'm on my way." Scott said. His next words were muffled when he spoke. The response was loud, but quickly grew distant.

Stiles tapped the seconds out with his fingers. He was at fifty-two when Scott came sprinting out the door. Stiles leaned over, unlocking the door. Scott slid in, breathing raggedly.

Stiles hung up the phone and backed the car up. He sped out of the parking lot.

-

"Did you get what you needed?" Scott asked, settling back into his seat.

It was taking him a little longer than normal to get his breath back. The fall had always been rough on him.

Stiles let out a brittle laugh. "I got more than I wanted."

Scott gave him a concerned look. "Are you okay?"

Stiles ran his trembling hand through his hair. "Man, Scott, it was so fucked up. The - the thing clawed her chest open and stole her heart."

"What? How do you know?"

Stiles glared at him. "I saw it in a vision," he snapped. He blanched, realizing that was almost exactly what had happened.

Scott caught it and stared at him. His lips thinned. "Really?"

"I'm being serious," Stiles stressed. "I looked into her eyes and it was like I was her. I watched it come at her, felt it ripping into chest." Stiles glanced over at Scott, who was staring at him with a closed expression.

"Is this a joke?" He asked. "Because it's not funny, Stiles."

Stiles looked at him for a full beat before snatching the wheel. The tires passed from the smooth asphalt, to the rough gravel shoulder. The jeep bumped and jumped over the ruts before coming to a stop.

He turned to Scott, who was clutching the dashboard and babbling, "what the hell are you doing?"

"I swear," he started and waited for Scott to look at him. "I swear on my mother that I'm not joking, that I'm not lying, and that everything I've told you has been the truth." Stiles swallowed, feeling the weight of his words. He whispered, "You've got to believe me, Scott, because I'm not sure I believe myself."

Scott eyes were huge. Slowly, he nodded. He reached out and caught Stiles' shoulder. He shook gently.

"Of course I believe you, Stiles."

"Thank God," Stiles sighed in relief, pressing his forehead against the wheel.

Scott shoved him again. "You know I'm with you all the way. How else would you have survived this long?"

Stiles laughed softly. "I think that goes both ways."

"My mom would fight you on that," Scott retorted.

They both burst out laughing. Stiles lifted his head after a few minutes, gasping for air. He grinned and asked, "you really believe me?"

Scott rolled his eyes. "Duh. If you remember, I believed you when you told me the tooth fairy quits showing up at the age of ten. You had me convinced that was the reason all the other kids stopped believing."

"Scott, your mom had us both believing that."

"Oh yeah," Scott said.

Stiles rolled his eyes. He looked over his shoulder, checking for cars.

"You know, you're going to have to tell me everything, right? You can't leave out a single detail."

"Scott, when has anyone accused me of of withholding information?"

Scott had to give him that one.

-

Dr. Lee pushed his way into morgue with the air of a man who had just escaped execution. He stopped short, surprised by the man with the military hair and a cargo jacket. He was staring down at the strange dead girl who had been brought in the previous day.

He looked up when Dr. Lee stopped. He looked like the sort that would dangle you off the roof or dunk your head in the toilet for fun. Dr. Lee took a step back.

The man smiled. "I was hoping you could answer a few of my questions," he said.

Lee's good mood leaped out of the window, screaming the whole way down. 

-

They arrived at school just in time for second period. It was like life was giving Stiles the giant middle finger. The two of them slunk into class, heads ducked and shoulders up. Their table was the second one back on the third row, right next to the windows.

Adrian Harris' gaze followed them across the room, pinning them like poor bugs. Stiles perched on his stool for a proper second,  then face planted into the table, cushioning his throbbing head with his arms. Shit was too fucked up to deal with Harris.

"For a moment, I thought Mr. McCall and Mr. Stilinski weren't going to grace us with their presence," he addressed the room.

Stiles stiffened. He raised his head, cutting off Scott's apology and promise not to do it again.

"I would never do that to you. I know you live each day only by the knowledge that come class time, you'll get to see us again."

"I'm glad you can delude yourself into thinking at least one person feels that way."

"Hey-"

"Quiet down, Mr. Stilinski, or I will be seeing you for detention." He glared from behind his square glasses. Stiles subsided slowly, mouth still opened to retort. Mr. Harris continued, "turn to page sixty-seven and begin reading."

Stiles pulled his book out, slamming it onto the table. He opened it to the page, then spent the rest of the class researching on his phone.

-

Doctor Alan Deaton was just finishing shaving a rabbit who had been dyed a bright yellow when the bell over his door chimed. He sat down the electric razor, dusting the fur off of his shirt. The clock on the wall read 11:30. The rabbit, whose name was Frank, twitched his nose and hunkered down, staring at the door.

Deaton picked Frank up, heading towards the front desk. Frank sneezed twice, then went still. Deaton glanced down at him briefly, then greeted his guest.

"Talia," he acknowledged.

"Hello, Alan," she returned with a wide smile. She looked at the rabbit and frowned. "What is that?"

Alan sat Frank down on the counter, stroking the single patch of fur that remained. It was just below Frank's nose, creating the likeness of a mustache. Frank turned his head and hopped away, done with Deaton for the day.

"A rabbit. I've just finished shaving him." Deaton explained. "Would you like to step in back?"

Talia shook her head with a rueful smile. "No, thank you. I've had more than enough experience with rabbits and their fur."

Deaton's lips twitched. "Of course. How can I help you?"

"You've heard about that girl's death?"

Deaton's smile dropped. He nodded. "I've heard. You believe her death to have been committed by someone outside the law?"

"You could say that." She stopped, cocking her head. "Chris is here," she murmured. "He should have more information on how she died." Talia met his eyes. "You will help us, won't you?"

"As much as I am able to." Alan agreed. It wasn't a lie. 

-

"You two were late," Allison began, dropping into the seat beside Scott. She gave him a peck on the lips then continued her interrogation. "Why is that?"

Scott and Stiles looked at each other.  Scott made the 'I can't lie to Allison's face' face. Stiles returned with the 'you have been taken into my confidence, don't you dare' face. Scott gave him the sad puppy look. Stiles kicked him under the table.

Allison hazarded, "Guys?"

"Stiles had this thing he needed to do and I went with him."

"Okay?" Allison asked with a half smile. "What was the thing?"

"Oh- um-"

Allison bounced a single time in her seat, then leaned forward, one elbow on the table. "Come on," she encouraged. "You can tell me."

Scott was giving Stiles an increasingly pitiful look. Stiles shook his head furiously. 

"It was- it was-"

"I am sick of the people in this school," Lydia exclaimed, sinking onto the bench. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, catching Allison's eye. Allison's expression remained bemused. "Well, aren't you going to ask me why?"

"Oh. Oh, yeah." Allison recovered quickly. "Why?"

"This girl in my French class had her phone on and it kept going off. She refused to turn it off, even though I asked politely. How am I supposed to learn to speak French fluently if all I can hear is her phone?"

"You could start by not taking high school French," Stiles suggested.

Lydia leveled him with a flat look. "How many languages do you speak?"

"Two."

"Really? Bad English and really bad English?"

"No, English and Polish."

Lydia paused for a second. Then she rolled her eyes and turned her back on them. Her face lit up as Jackson and Danny walked through the door. They might as well have been road kill at that point. 

-

"Her heart was missing?" Deaton repeated.

Chris nodded, glancing at Frank. He had asked the same thing Talia had and gotten much the same answer. Frank had his ears laid back and was glaring at him. Chris kept his hands to himself and away from the pink bundle of wrinkled flesh.

"The heart appeared to be intact when it was removed, but everything else was shredded."

"And the rest of her body was undamaged?"

"More or less. She had some injuries from her fall, but the attack was concentrated on her chest."

"It wasn't a werewolf," Talia interjected. "A feral wolf will always go for the throat."

"Do you know of anything that might have done it?"

"A few things come to mind, but this is rather bizarre. It will take me a few days, but I might be able to find your culprit." Deaton frowned.

"It's likely to kill again." Chris reminded him.

"I'm afraid there is nothing else I can do without knowing exactly what we are up against." Deaton sighed.

"Chris, we aren't just going to be sitting around twiddling our thumbs. I've called my pack home, so that we may search the preserve. I've also made it clear that you will be joining us." Talia assured him.

"What time are you planning on starting?"

"Five sharp. It's a lot of ground to cover." Talia had a challenge in her eye.

"I can keep up."

"I'm sure you'll try."

Chris side-eyed her. "Deaton, I almost forgot. Scott said he was there last night. I believe he saw something, but is too scared to tell me."

"I wonder why," Talia muttered.

"Would you speak to him?"

"His next shift is tomorrow. I'll be sure to ask him about it then."

"Good. I'll see you at five." Chris made his way out the door.

Talia said her goodbyes and followed him out.

Deaton picked up Frank, staring into the rabbits brown eyes. Frank stared back. He sneezed once. 

"Of course it isn't that simple." Deaton conceded.

-

Derek walked through the front door a little after four. He dumped his backpack and shoes next to the stairs, before heading to the kitchen. There was a funny scent of peaches hanging in the air. He sniffed again, then stopped. He frowned, counting the number of heartbeats.

There were two more than there should have been.

"Little brother!"

Derek tried to turn, but Laura, a good foot taller than him, had landed on his back. He let out an 'omph', bumbling his way into a wall. Laura rubbed her cheek against his, then proceeded to give him a noogie. She clung on, even as he tried to shake her off.

"Stop. Laura, stop. Mom!"

"Laura, leave Derek alone," Talia said from the kitchen.

Laura slithered off, grinning. Derek glared up at her, trying to smooth his hair back into place.

"What are you even doing here?" He demanded.

"Mom called. Said she needed everyone to come home."

Derek eyes went wide and horrified.  "Tell me not everyone."

"Yes, nephew, everyone." Peter said from the door way.

Derek groaned. "You're suppose to be at college."

"Don't fret, Derek, I'm sure that Laura and I will only be home for a few days. That will give us plenty of time to catch up."

"No. You two are not allowed to stalk me at school." Derek commanded.

Peter sauntered his way over. When he was right in front of Derek he reached out and started pinching his cheeks.

"It's so adorable when you try to order us around."

Derek batted his hands away, growling. Peter flashed his gold eyes back at him. Laura stepped between them, shoving. They both snarled at her.

"Break it up," Talia ordered, peeking out of the dining room. "And come and eat. We have business to attend to."

"What kind of business?"

"Knitting business," Peter threw his arm over his shoulder and guided him down he hall.

Derek elbowed him in the stomach and figured that was a good enough come back.

-

Stiles ran out of paper before he ran out of things to print. He stared at the notice on his screen, flashing that he needed to load more paper. He didn't have a have anymore paper. In fact, he was almost out of ink.

He sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. The words were starting to blur together. He was pretty sure his father had come and gone, having taken a nap at the station. They had ate in silence, Stiles on his phone and his father reading police reports. His father had dropped a hand on his shoulder before leaving, arming the alarm on his way out the door.

Stiles blinked, staring at his ceiling. He hadn't gotten any further in his investigation. He had gotten side tracked on reading about the fae, then somehow ended up on plant spirits. He had printed out maybe a dozen pages on each. The other two hundred pages had been from recommended sources.

It was nearly eight and exhaustion was looming. His skin felt sticky with sweat and rain. He needed a shower and some sleep.

"Fuck," he told the ceiling. He sat up, clicking out of the browser.

He stood and gathered some clothes to take with him. He picked an old t-shirt and some jogging pants. He walked across the hall, shutting the door behind him.

He was enjoying the warm water when he felt a cold draft. A moment later, he heard a window shatter and the alarm start to wail.

-

"How much longer do we have to be out here?" Derek yawned, his jaw cracking.

Laura punched him in the shoulder. "Until Mom calls us home."

"I have school tomorrow. And it's not like we're even going to catch a scent. The rain washed it away."

"Ah, my little optimist," she huffed with a laugh. "You never know. We might get lucky."

Derek rolled his eyes.

His head tilted at almost the same time Laura's did. Distantly, but getting louder, was the shrill of sirens.

"Like two cop cars lucky?" Derek asked.

Laura didn't answer. She was sprinting in the direction the cars were speeding. Derek followed after her.

-

Stiles slipped getting out of the shower. He banged his shin and swore, hopping as he dragged his clothes on. He left the shower running as he eased opened the door. The cold draft came from his room.

He glanced up and down the hall before going to his door. He caught movement and stepped inside, not thinking.

He froze, staring at the woman standing next to his desk. She beckoned to him quickly, eyes frantic. The nine with a rounded tail shone from her chest, through the Marvel t-shirt she wore. She covered it with one hand, drawing his gaze back to her face.

Tessa mouthed the word, "claimed."

Her eyes went wide and she waved her hands at him. He turned his head slightly and heard it. She wavered and disappeared at the same time he realized what he was hearing.

It was the sound of footsteps on the staircase and the rasp of nails on the banister.


	3. Chapter 3

John was on his fourth cup of coffee when Parrish appeared at the door. He rapped his knuckles against the door jam, face grim. John looked up from his files, shuffling them back into the folder.

Parrish was speaking before he even closed it. "Sheriff, we just got a call from Ace's Home Security. They are reporting a breaking and entering in progress." Parrish stem rolled through the next sentence. "It's your house."

The folder slapped the desk and the chair scrapped the floor as John lurched to his feet. He grabbed his jacket, then was moving across the room.

"Ride with me," he ordered, passing Parrish.

Parrish was already following.

-

Stiles lunged for his bedroom door, slamming it shut. He threw the lock and backed away. He knelt to grope for his bat under the bed, never looking away from the door. He stopped, twisting the grip in both hands, the aluminum bat tucked close to his shoulder.

The alarm gave a whine, then died.

He could hear the creature walking down the hall. Claws caught on the carpet, ripping it apart. The thing dragged its talons across the wall, carving a path in the dry wall and knocking pictures to the floor. Stiles tried to keep his breaths slow and steady as he tracked the thing closer and closer to his door. He shifted from one foot to the other and found himself backing towards the window.

The thing reached his door. The metal knob gave a shrill cry as it was crushed under its grip. The lock stuck though, hanging on tightly. The thing pushed on to door. It shuddered once, twice, and cracked.

Stiles turned and went out the window. 

-

The sheriff was a decent driver. When he was a teenager, before he met Claudia and joined the police  force, he use to race his Thunderbird. The hard packed dirt of the Nevada desert was as good a place as any, better than the streets at least. It had been racing that led him to Claudia. 

She had been working in her father's garage, saving money for college. She had looked at his engine and laughed in his face, telling him that water was required to keep it running. She had been smudged with black grease, her brown hair pulled into a tight bun. She had spoken to a burly man with a handlebar mustache, who grinned at John's stupidity. The man, Claudia's father, only spoke in Polish. He had shaken his head, rolled his eyes, then waived the fee.

John had put his car in the shop every other day for two weeks, just to watch the way Claudia's lips curled when she smiled, just to listen to the slow drawl of her voice as she taught him proper maintenance. She had always been just shy of sarcasm, a moment away from a witty comment.

God, their kid had grown up to be just like her.

At the end of two weeks, she had looked at him and said, "I would wait for you to ask me on a date, but that might tale a millennium. So, you want to get dinner?"

It had been her idea to move to California. She had said she wanted their kid to know what it was like to have trees in the back yard, to feel rain more than once every few months. She had wanted to see the uncomprehending look on the kid's face when he first saw the desert. She wanted to be able to laugh as he asked how they had managed to grow up in such a dull town, in a dull landscape. She had wanted to show their kid all the hidden wonders.

She hadn't gotten a chance to do a lot of those things.

"Sheriff," Parrish said loudly from where he was clinging to the dash and door.

John barley acknowledged him as he cut a corner, lights flashing and siren blaring. The cruiser came out of the curve straight, snapping forward like an arrow.

"I think you should know that the samples we took from the fence came back. They contained trace amounts of the girl's blood."

The needle passed seventy.

-

The fall was short and ended with Stiles going feet first into a bush. The branches snapped and jabbed, scrapping his legs through his pants and at his bare feet. He let out a pained gasp, the bat flying out of his hand. It rolled across the yard as Stiles struggled out of the bush.

Above, he heard the low groan of wood splintering, then the crunch as it gave.

He tore himself from the bush. He stooped low to pick up his bat. Then he crossed the yard, heading for the road. The grass was sharp and sliced his soles, the leaves hard pinpricks. The grass changed to sidewalk then to asphalt.

He passed under the street light and out into the road, and was well on his way to cutting between his neighbors' houses to get to the gas station when a police cruiser turned the corner.

He met his father at the door, heart in his mouth. His father caught him by the shoulders as he babbled, checking him over quickly.

"Dad, it's in our house. The thing that killed Tessa is in my room."

"Okay," the sheriff nodded. "You stay here. Parrish and I will search the house."

Stiles flailed, catching his father's blazer. "No, you can't go in there. It'll kill you."

John spoke, trying to look reassuring. "Stiles, I have a job to do. Wait here. We'll be back in a few minutes."

"But, Dad-"

Parrish caught his gaze. "I've got his back."

"I'll be okay, Stiles. Just wait here and don't move. I'll be back," John repeated. He patted him, then turned his back. Stiles let go reluctantly.

Stiles watched them enter the house, weapons drawn and flashlights on. Parrish was a step behind him, covering him. Stiles paced and counted each second.

His didn't realize he was speaking in Polish.

-

The living room window was shattered. John's flashlight caught the glint of glass on the carpet. He swept the beam across the room, watching as the shadows scurried away from the light. The coffee table was over turned, DVDs and notes scattered across the floor.

Parrish slipped into the dining room, then into the kitchen. He returned silently, keeping his steps light as they both ascended the stairs. John sight caught of the scratches and fought down the urge to return to Stiles, to bundle him up, and ship him off to his grandparents a state away.

There were days when he wanted to lock Stiles in a tower, to keep him safe from the world and his predilection for trouble. That day, he felt he should add a fortress and armed sentries to the tower.

John could hear the shower when they reached the second floor landing. Light spilled out from the bathroom, along with the lingering puffs of steam. John swept his eyes down the hall, catching sight of crumbled dry wall and shattered picture frames.

"This guy has some Freddy Kruger shit going on," Parrish whispered to himself.

John looked at him, motioning him to check the bathroom. Parrish squeezed past him in the hallway, keeping low and quiet. He pressed his back next to the wall, then duck into the bathroom, gun first.

He reappeared a second later, shaking his head.

They both looked at the shattered remains of the bedroom door. John looked down the hall, which was untouched, his bedroom door still shut. John went to Stiles' doorway and darted a look around the corner. He pulled back quickly, giving Parrish a single, sharp nod.

John swung into the room, finger on he trigger and the order to freeze on his tongue. What came out instead a swear as the two officers watched Tessa Burns' killer dive head first out of the window.

John rushed forward, keeping his hands away from the window seal. The pale man darted across the yard and into the trees. He was gone within seconds.

"Son of a bitch," John swore, stepping back. "Parrish, call in Trent,  we might be able to-"

"Sheriff," Parrish interrupted. "I think we need to call in forensics."

John turned, looking where Parrish was.

Sitting on top of Stiles' desk, next to his computer, was a bloody heart.

-

Laura and Derek arrived just in time to watch the creature hit the ground and roll, coming easily to its feet. Derek stopped short, staring at the house. Laura grabbed his shirt, tugging him back into a run. Laura was quicker than Derek. He had to strain to keep up.

It moved fast between the trees, a shadow under the moonlight. Derek strained to see it, the pale skin covered by dark material. It breathed in half inhales, and tittering exhales. The heartbeat was like a busted drum that only gave a hollowed out thud where it should have the sound of rushing blood. There should have been the gurgle of digestion, but the body was disquieting silent.

It smelled bland, like dried leaves, and underneath that was the tang of copper.

Laura tipped her head back and let out a howl that reverberated through the trees. Her howl was deep and throaty, more like a wolf's than the weather siren his father's was. The leaves shivered and the wind swept it away, out across the preserve.

Half a dozen howls echoed back, getting closer as they raced deeper into the woods. Glowing eyes appeared on either side, a multitude of gold and a single pair of red. Talia quickly caught up to them, then bypassed them. Her paws threw up dirt and twigs, her black fur reflecting the moonlight in a shot of silver.

Chris kept up easily with Jacob, Derek's youngest brother, who was the slowest of the pack. It was better than most humans could do. His heart was starting to hammer, drowning out the creature's. He gun was on a sling, bumping his back on every third step. It smelled like metal and grease, like it was cleaned after every use. 

Derek realized where they were going when they took took a sharp turn to the east, towards the river that cut a ravine through the far edge of the preserve. The walls were steep enough to kill a man. It went on like that for a mile in either direction. They would have it cornered.

The edge came up abruptly, the ground dropping away in jagged edges. The creature didn't slow. Talia gave a final burst of speed, leaping for its cloak, teeth gleaming.

They snapped down on air as the creature plunged into the ravine. 

-

Stiles looked up the second he heard footsteps on the porch. John and Parrish walked briskly down the steps. His father's face was angry and grim, his hand still on his side arm. Parrish passed him, heading for the car to use the radio. He shut the door behind him.

John came up to Stiles, hooking a arm around his shoulders. "We need to talk."

"He escaped?" Stiles whispered.

He was sick with relief. The further that thing was from his father, the better.

John nodded, leading them away from the car and from the house. Stiles hadn't noticed that lights were starting to come on up and down the street, that people were starting to notice the Sheriff's car was in front of his own house with flashing lights. There were a few neighbors, including Mrs. Mable who was a fucking snitch that ratted on him and Scott whenever they stepped out of line. They stood on their porches, faces washed in red and blue lights that made them look like sleepy corpses. 

"He went out the window," John confirmed. He stopped, turning to face him. He gave him the stern look, full of fear and concern. "Now, tell me exactly what happened."

"I was in the shower when a window broke. I got dressed and hid in my room. He must have heard me, because he tried to break down the door. I went out the window." Stiles rattled off, then asked, "what did you see?"

John shook his head. "Can you explain to me why he would want to break into our home and leave a organ on your desk?"

Stiles faced screwed up in disgust. "It's not close to my laptop is it?"

"Do you have any idea how serious this is, Stiles?" John exploded.

Stiles flinched.

John closed his eyes, reigning in his temper. When he spoke again, his voice was even. "You could have been killed, Stiles. You can make jokes all you want, but until we catch this man, you will be accompanied by an officer to and from school. You will be with an officer while at home, while at the store, while you are getting gas. You will not be alone at any point. Do you understand?" 

"That's not-" Stiles struggled to retort. He flailed, throwing his hands up and gesturing. "You can't- I can't-"

The sheriff held up one hand, stopping him. "So help me God, Stiles, if you disobey me, I will handcuff myself to you. Now, do you understand?"

Stiles glared at the ground. "Doesn't Scott need a body guard?"

John slumped in on himself, rubbing his eyes. It was as close as he was going to get to his son to saying yes. "I'm sure where you are, Scott will be there too."

Stiles let out a snort, unable to help it. He raised his head, eyeing his father. He felt a bubble of acid in his stomach, a common enough form of guilt. He crossed his arms, looking back at the house.

"It's a crime scene?"

"Yeah. It'll probably be released by tomorrow night. You have clothes at Scott's?"

"Yeah. Man, Melissa is going to be pissed at me. First trespassing, now this. "

The sheriff let out a huffed laugh. "I haven't told her about the trespassing yet."

Stiles groaned. A police car let out a single whoop of the siren as it stopped behind the cruiser. Brenda stepped out, along with Sebastian Ranger, one of three forensic specialists in the county. He carried a metallic suit case in his right hand. He looked like he had been dragged out of bed, probably by Brenda herself.

They made their way over, glancing at the growing crowd of onlookers.

"Sheriff," Brenda greeted.

"What can I do for you, Sheriff Stilinski?" Ranger asked.

"We're waiting for the M.E. to arrive and release the remains. Then you are going process every inch of my house, looking for anything that will give us a clue as to this man's identity."

Sebastian bit his thumb nail, looking over his shoulder at the house. "This have anything to do with that murder on Brook?"

"Yeah."

Brenda looked at Stiles and shook her heads. "Jesus, Stiles, couldn't you be like normal teenagers just have ill advised sex?"

"Who says I'm not?"

Brenda leveled him with a 'oh please' look. Stiles was genuinely offended by how quickly she shot down the idea.

"Any other town, this would be because of the sheriff and not his kid," she sighed. "Any other town and we wouldn't be dealing with this sick fuck." She shook her head again, looking truly regretful. "Where do you need me, Sheriff?"

John tilted his head at Stiles. "Can you escort him to Scott's house? If Melissa is off, please explain the situation."

"If she isn't?"

"Wait for her or your relief."

"You got it, Sheriff. Stiles, come on. You hungry? I am."

Stiles shook his head, starting after her. John caught him, pulling him close for a crushing hug. Stiles wrapped his arms around him, resting his chin on his shoulder. His father's voice was gruff when he spoke.

"Stay safe, kid."

"You too, Dad."

John released him. Stiles glanced back at him once before climbing into the cruiser next to Brenda, who had tuned the radio to a eighties rock channel. John stared hard at the house, assessing it. He no longer saw it as home, but another crime scene.

Stiles shut the door and looked away.

-

Chris lowered the rifle with a shake of his head. "It's gone. I wouldn't be able to hit it even in the daylight."

"Shit," Laura swore, kicking a rock into the ravine.

Talia's body shivered, then she was standing up on two legs, her snout and hair retreating. Peter rolled his eyes, offering her a brown jacket, for the sake of human modest. Talia slipped into it, zipping it up to her neck. It covered her upper thighs and little else.

"Where did you spot it?" Talia asked, cutting straight to the point.

"It came out of some house."

"Do we know whose house? Was there another murder?"

"It was Stiles' house," Derek gestured back over his shoulder. Distantly, he could still hear the sirens. "I think he made it out. It smelled like blood, but it was old smelling."

"What was this thing doing in Stiles' house?" Peter demanded.

"Scott was with Stiles. That was why he was at there." Chris muttered. "Scott might not have seen anything. Stiles, it would seem, did."

"We need to find out what and why. Derek-"

"Mom, we're pretty much all on his shit list after Peter's senior prank."

"They were gifts."

"You filled his locker full of condoms and tied a goat to his jeep!"

"Like I said," Peter shrugged. "Gifts."

"Mom, can we please send him back to college? Please?"

Talia rubbed her temples. It shouldn't be possible, but she was getting a headache.

"Will he talk to any of you?" She asked.

"He'll talk to us, he just won't tell us any thing useful."

"He told me about the collector editions featuring Cat Woman." Erica protested. Her mouth snapped shut at their looks. "Sorry."

"Will he give actual information to any of you?"

"He'll tell me," Peter said.

"Maybe to fuck off." Derek retorted.

"Derek," Talia warned.

"Stiles isn't going to tell me to fuck off. I'm far too attractive to do that."

"You are a bigger narcissist than Jackson Whittemore."

"That's because I have more reason to be."

"Enough," Talia barked. "Peter, question him. Chris, I'll walk you back to your car. We have things to discuss. Everyone else, go home."

"Talia, if you keep barking, you might become an actual wolf," Peter warned.

He slipped off into the trees before she could return the insult.

-

Deputy Joe Kart was sitting at the dining room table with Melissa when Stiles and Scott stumbled down the stairs the following morning. Melissa nursed a cup of coffee, despite having recently returned from the night shift. She eyed them both, a storm brewing behind her eyes.

"He, uh, filled you in?" Scott asked, scratching the back of his head.

"Yes." 

Scott and Stiles exchanged an 'oh shit' look.

"What does that mean?"

"When this is over, you're both grounded for three months."

"Mom-"

"Me?" Stiles asked, pointing at himself. 

"Zip it, I don't want to hear it. Now, go get dressed. This nice man is going to drive you to school, where you will eat breakfast."

"Cruel and unusable punishment-"

"But my jeep-"

"You're lucky to be seeing daylight," Melissa warned. "And you're lucky the jeep still has a battery."

The two of them went back upstairs without another word of protest. Melissa was downright scary when she was pissed.

-

Allison met them at the school entrance. Joe had taken pity on them and stopped at the local McDonald's for breakfast.  Stiles had scarfed it in a few bites, Scott lagging by a few seconds. Joe ended up taking his to go, frowning at the realization that he was a very slow eater.

"Hey, my dad told me," she said, hugging Scott and patting Stiles. "Are you okay?"

"Scott left more bruises from kicking me in his sleep than it did."

Allison nodded in understanding. "He does kick a lot."

Stiles blinked a few times, gaping. It was almost as one that Allison and Scott started to blush. Stiles pointed at both of them, switching back and forth. He stopped on Scott. 

"You've been holding out on me, man. I tell you everything about my sex life."

"You don't have one, Stiles."

"See, you know everything."

"Class is about to start," Allison jerked a thumb at the building.  "And as invigorating as this chat is, I'd rather not be late."

"Fine, but I want details."

"Dude, I can't just share-" Scott started.

"You can ask Lydia," Allison called over her shoulder.

Scott chased after her, demanding,  "you told Lydia?"

-

Stiles got one of two reactions for the rest of the day. People either avoided him or they sought him to ask about his house getting broken into. By the fifth strange freshman, he was ready to get on the announcements and declare, 'yes, my house was broken into last night, now fuck off.'

By the time lunch rolled around, he was tempted to blow off the rest of day, handcuffs be damned.

Stiles pressed his palm to his chest, feeling the bruise throb. He hadn't been able to find anything on the symbol or the creature, but the fact that it had found him, had singled him out, was leading Stiles no where good. He let his head thump against the table, staring at his pale knuckles as they gripped his hoody.

He was marked.

"Well, aren't you a Debby Downer today." A voice drawled from beside him.

Stiles jumped and jerked his head up. Peter grinned at him as he slid into the seat across from him.

"What are you doing here?" Stiles demanded when his heart stopped trying to beat its way out of his chest. "Aren't you suppose to be in college?"

Peter looked disappointed."I was expecting a more imaginative reaction to my return. My nephew already covered that one."

Stiles leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. His heart was starting to slow but his anger was starting to grow. He hadn't spoken to Peter since summer, and that conversation had been a whopping snark fest. It had ended with yet another goat being tied to Stiles' bumper.

Where he kept getting the goats, Stiles could never figure out.

"Well, how about this one," Stiles demanded. "What do you want?"

Peter mimicked his move. "I just want to talk."

"You can do that?"

"I can do a lot of things with my mouth." Peter said breezily.

Stiles felt a light flush start and shifted, snapping out, "Can you shut it?"

Peter's lips turned up in a slow smile. "Am I getting under your skin, Stiles?"

"You're doing a fine job making it crawl," Stiles lied, leaning back to put distance between them.

Peter's smile turned into a grin. "While your lying, you might want to try telling me you didn't see anything last night."

Stiles felt the flush return, but this time out of anger, instead of misplaced hormones. "That's what this is about? My house getting broken into?"

"I could be missing your sharp tongue. The people at college just can't keep up."

"Maybe because you aren't even running." Stiles suggested.

Peter showed teeth when he smiled. It was odd how much it reminded Stiles of a jackal. Stiles shook himself, focusing on the words.

"So, how about the full story?"

"How about you fuck off?"

"I guess you did say it," Peter said thoughtfully. "Yeah, no. What did he look like from the front? Did he have big teeth? Furry? What was he doing in your house? Stealing? Lurking?"

"It left a fucking organ on my desk," Stiles hissed, cutting him off. "You happy? It broke into my house, tried to kill me, and left a organ- probably a heart- on my desk."

"Was it human?"

Stiles stared at him. For a split second, he couldn't tell if he was asking about the heart or the creature. He shook his head, realizing that he had to mean the heart and that Peter was an asshole.

"I seem to have misplaced my friends." Stiles snapped, standing from the lunch table. He stalked out before Peter could ask him any more questions.

-

"Stiles. Hey, Stiles!"

Stiles pulled up short, eyebrows furrowing. He had been aimlessly walking the halls for fifteen minutes, waiting for the bell to ring for gym. He thought he had heard his name being called. He glanced over his shoulder and was surprised to see Lydia gliding towards him.

Lydia was the only person who could glide in six inch heels and look like she wasn't about fall over and break her neck. She pursed her lips, looking him up and down. She sighed out of her nose, rolling her eyes.

"You look like shit," she declared.

"Thanks?"

"I guess it's okay, considering your night." She cocked her head to the side. "You're alive, so it wasn't that bad."

"Utter terror and brand new phobias aside, you're right." Stiles agreed.

She continued to look at him with the assessing eyes, even as the bell rang and students spilled out of classes and the cafeteria. "If you need anything-"

"I'll call you first." He assured her.

"Don't call me," she said, giving him the 'you dumb-ass' look. "Call the police, then call me. If you die, I will have no competition for Valedictorian and it's not winning if you do it by default."

Stiles bit back his grin. "Okay," he said.

"Good," she replied, then she started to glare, her eyes tracking someone.

Stiles looked, seeing a willowy blonde girl hurry between students. She was heading for the front door, probably planning on skipping.

"That's the one who wouldn't turn off her phone," Lydia sniffed, turning up her nose. "Maybe today, I'll actually learn something."

With that, Lydia pivoted, and sashayed away. Stiles turned in the other direction, coming face to face with Scott.

"Dude, I've been looking everywhere for you," he grabbed him, strong arming him towards the locker rooms. "Come on, we're going to be late for gym."

-

The Lacrosse field was utterly trashed from the rain. Stiles and Scott stared at it, then looked at Coach Finstock as he blew the whistle.

"Coach, I don't think this is going to work," Scott tried.

"Hush, McCall. Did you go to college to be a coach? Did you pay with blood, sweat, and semen? No, I don't think so. Now, Greenburg, get on the field."

"Did he just say semen?" Scott whispered.

"Yes, Coach," Greenburg shouted, running into the field.

The second he hit mud, his feet went out from under him. Coach clapped his hand over his eyes, dragging it down over his face. Scott and Stiles turned away, trying to choke back their laughs, along with the rest of gym class.

"Greenburg!"

Greenburg got to his feet, thumping mud off of his legs and hands. He shook the mud off his stick, then held it aloft.

"Toss me a ball, Coach."

The coach looked like he was already regretting the idea. He got a ball and tossed it. The ball fell short, landing in the mud. Greenburg swooped forward,  sweeping the ball, the mud, and a few stray leaves into his net. He shot the ball.

The ball soared over Coach's head. The mud, however, went straight into his face.

"Okay," he said, resigned as he flicked the muck off. "We'll do laps in the pool."

-

Stiles stood in line in front of Scott. Jackson was to his left, Danny to his right. Scott caught his arm before he could step up.

"Dude, aren't you suppose to lay off for a few days?"

Stiles rolled his eyes, prying Scott's fingers off. "That was a suggestion. Dog paddling isn't going to hurt me."

"Really, Stilinski?" Jackson taunted. "Dog paddling?"

"I bet I can still beat you."

"Stiles," Scott muttered. 

"Jackson, quit," Danny interjected.

"No, Danny. Stilinski, you think you can take me? Want to prove it?"

"You're on, asshole."

"Next!" Coach shouted.

Stiles stripped out of his shirt, keeping his back to Scott and the others. He tossed the shirt next to the dive platform, then climbed on top. He glared at Jackson, waiting for the whistle to blow.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of chlorine. The air was chilled, but heat radiated off the water, heaters keeping it warm. It shimmered in the afternoon light, reflecting the skylights and the distant clouds.

The whistle blew and Stiles dived in, water rushing up over his head, some going up nose. He surfaced, paddling furiously as Jackson cut through the water. Stiles spit out water, the funky taste clinging to his tongue.

With every flap of his hands and kick of his feet, an ache expanded in his chest, right where the bruise was. It didn't feel like a muscles pulling though, but like something outside trying to get in. He took deep breaths and kept going.

He was on his third lap, Jackson on his fifth and final. He gave Jackson the finger as he passed. Jackson returned the sentiment with a splash that went over his head. Stiles surfaced, sputtering, and treading water.

It was then that ache exploded into white hot pain. Between one kick and the next, he was going under, water closing over his head, the lead in his chest pulling him down towards the bottom, where a shadow lay.


	4. Chapter 4

The world was a swirling kaleidoscope as he sank to the bottom of the pool. Shapes and colors blurred together like a chalk portrait in the rain. Something started to pull him up and away. His knees scrapped the edge of the pool, then bounced painfully off the stones. The arms around his waist let go and he slid bonelessly to the ground.

His ears were roaring as the water drained out. He started to cough and gag, hacking up water. It burned, his whole chest on fire, his nose stinging furiously. He pushed himself to his hands and knees, back bowing as he tried desperately to purge his lungs of water so he could breathed in. His eyes were hot with tears.

"Stiles, shit, you're okay. You're okay, just breathe." Scott soothed, dropping to his knees. He frantically slapped him on the back.

"Bilinkski, what the hell was that?" Coach bellowed.

"Coach, that isn't helping," Danny cut in, pulling himself out of the pool.

He knelt next to Stiles, grabbing at his arm. "Come on, you need to go to the nurse."

Stiles jerked away, latching onto Scott. "No," he croaked. A slow, rolling tremble was starting to overcome his body. It was making his fingers scramble against the stones.

Oh God, what the fuck was happening to him?

"I'm fine," he forced out, sounding like he had swallowed a cactus. "Scott," he pleaded.

Scott understood almost instantly.

"I'll take him." Scott said, leaving no room for argument.

He stood, helping Stiles to his feet. Stiles slipped once, nearly taking them both down. They righted, then shuffled toward the exit. Stiles hung on to him, the world swaying back and forth, as if he was still flailing in the water.

He still felt like he was drowning, like he wasn't getting enough air. The walk to the exit happened in skips and blinks, then they were passing through the doors. They didn't turn right towards the nurse's office, but left to the locker room.

Stiles kept tripping over his feet and Scott kept having to stop and lean against walls, his own breath coming in short pants. It was an eternity before they reached the locker room, the smell of dirty socks and sweat reaching them long before.

Stiles let go the second the door closed. He lurched, collapsing onto the bench hands first. His legs were wobbly, jello to his wish washy stomach. He clutched the wood beneath his fingers, nails creaking and whiting under the pressure.

Scott's shirt was plastered to his skin. Stiles followed him with his eyes, watching him run around the locker room, searching for a single clean towel. Scott was launching head first into mother hen mode, the one that made him a good veterinarian assistant.

He had his puppy dog eyes on.

Scott darted pass, throwing a beige towel around his shoulders. Stiles clenched his teeth and tried to stop the shakes. He reached up with one hand, pulling the towel close around him as Scott went to rummage in his locker, pulling out dry clothes. 

He returned with his arms full and a worried look on his face.

"Not the kicked puppy look," Stiles' voice cracked on the joke.

Scott didn't smile. The frown deepened, his eyes getting bigger. He came close, dropping a solitary hand on Stiles' shoulder.

"Tell me," he asked softly.

Stiles turned his head, coughing. His eyes watered. When he could breathe, he whispered, "it was just like at the morgue. One second I was me, then I just... wasn't."

Scott squeezed gently. "What did you see?"

"It crouching down, hands inside my-" Stiles ran a hand through his flat hair, reminding himself that he wasn't actually talking about himself. "Their chest. It lifted their heart out and then..."

Stiles had to stop before he started to gag. Fuck, horror movies just didn't prepare you for the real life event.

"It licked the heart. It fucking tongued it, like ice cream. It started making all these soft humming noises and started to rub the heart against it's mouth," Stiles' voice gave out.

Scott made a soft sound. He tightened his hold and shook. Stiles looked up at him, at the determined glint in his eye.

"We'll figure this out. We'll stop it," Scott swore. "You find so much random shit on the internet, imagine what you can do when you are actually looking."

Stiles barked out a laugh. "I have been looking. I was looking all last night, but all my research got put in evidence because that fucker got blood on it. My computer was taken too, I don't even know where to begin again. And we'll have to find the second body- if there even is one, I could be totally fucking nuts-"

Scott cut him off. "Dude, we got this," he repeated.

Stiles took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay. Okay, Scotty."

-

Her name was Mary, and she was seven.  She thought herself to be pretty damn grown up, considering her brother was only four. Her mama even told her so, when she mama wasn't drinking adult juice. She cleaned up after Harry and kept him from sticking his fingers in the power plugs. She even read to him when he couldn't sleep.

She decided to take a day off from school. It was test day. She hated tests. Math tests were the worst thing to ever happen to her. She hadn't done anything to deserve it. She was a good kid, after all.

Her mother wouldn't even have to know. She could get ready and pretend to walk to the school, but instead go play in the park. She could hide in the tunnel where it was dry and read the rest of The Bad Beginning.  She could eat lunch on the swings, then go home when  the school bus passed.

It was one of her better plans. The only thing she didn't account for was having to use the bathroom.

She left her stuff hidden in the tunnel, then darted across the park. She had seen one or two grown ups, people who took the trash out of the cans and checked the bubbling fountain. She kept a wide breadth between them, ducking between trees and bushes.

She felt like a spy, sneaking around. She decided as she reached the center of the park, where the bathrooms were, that she had found her destiny. She would work for the president and get to live a glamorous life of stealth and stealing. She would be famous for never being seen, her name known by everyone, but her face a mystery. She would be better than James Bond, who always ended up getting caught by the bad guys and having to fight his way out.

She wouldn't even have to have a weapon. She would be the weapon.

She made a chopping motion, then started to sprint to the bathroom. Her short legs carried her to the door. Halfway there, she caught sight of bright red on the ground. She stopped, thinking for a moment that it had to be a scarf someone had forgotten. She approached, the small voice in her head telling her she shouldn't. 

She wished she had listened as she started to scream.

-

The house smelled like chemicals, strangers, and the Stilinskis. Peter slipped in through the broken window, which had been covered with crime scene tap. It hadn't warned him away, but the lingering scent of blood and leaves persuaded him. He was also a nosy shit, whose curiosity- and Talia's- was piqued.

The police had done a number on the house. A horrid cologne lingered the air, smelling like grass and pine trees. Peter breathed through his mouth, being careful to keep his hands to himself. The last thing he needed was to leave finger prints and get caught trespassing

It didn't figure into his long term plans of getting into Stiles' good graces. It was already an uphill battle.

He inspected the claw marks on the steps, running back through the little they already knew. None of them had gotten a good frontal view and few of Deaton's books went into depth about what the creatures looked like from behind. Claws, talons, smells a lot like Laura's cooking. Probably had low enough standards to eat it, too.

He continued up the stairs, footsteps soundless. He found Stiles room, not so much from the lack of door, excessive amounts of finger print dust, and evidence collection, but from the gut punch of teen hormones.

He walked in, looking around. Most of Stiles' things had been left where they were, except for his desk, which had been cleared off. Peter walked to it, tracing where blood had spilled on the top. It had seeped through paper and left a small stain. Peter bent low, inhaling deeply.

It wasn't human.

-

"It think it's a cow heart," Dr. Lee explained, stripping his gloves off.

John rocked on his heels. The heart sat on a metal tray between them. It was starting to turn brown and dry out, most of the blood pooling at the bottom of the tray. Some of it was at the station, including a stack of papers that made no sense. His son's mind was a mystery most of the time.

"So my newest murder victim is a cow?"

"Possibly a really large pig. I'm not a vet," Dr. Lee tossed the gloves, then went to the sink. "You know, Sheriff, for the size of our town, the crime rate is phenomenally high." He started washing his hands, scrubbing until they gleamed.

"I've spoken to some colleagues, who have theorized that Beacon Hills sits on mercury deposits, which slowly seep into the water supply. Long term contamination, while not enough to raise alarms with the water company, are enough to poison the people. For someone who has weak kidneys, it's pretty much an extended death sentence."

"You're telling me," John paused, shaking his head. "That you think our problems come down to something as simple as mercury poisoning?"

"Would you rather me say we tend to attract criminals?" Dr. Lee responded, drying off his hands.

"Would you rather they be home-grown them?" John retorted.

Dr. Lee conceded the point. "I plan on releasing Tessa Burns' body this afternoon. Her parents wish to bury her with her brother, who was killed in action earlier this year."

John felt a pang of sympathy and regret. He couldn't image having to bury a child, much less two. He had barely survived Claudia. He wouldn't survive Stiles.

He was going to do his damn best to make sure Stiles survived to be a hundred and twenty. He was going to hobbling around with a cane and getting arrested for swiping police reports even then.

John put the thoughts aside with a forceful push. "It's a shame," he murmured.

Dr. Lee nodded in agreement. He came back, eyeing the heart. "I suggest you speak to Dr. Alan Deaton- you are familiar with him, right?"

"I've consulted him before."

"He may have heard about cattle mutilation."

"Beacon Hills isn't exactly know for its sprawling dairy farms, Doctor."

Dr. Lee shrugged. "Vets gossip. Even Dr. Deaton, who works with small animals, would have heard something."

John's phone began to ring. The tone had been changed half a dozen times by Stiles. John had given up having anything remotely professional sounding. He was resigned to listening to, 'who you gonna call? Ghostbusters!' whenever someone called.

"Excuse me," John said, turning to answer the phone.

Reception in the morgue was spotty at best. He had to ask Tara to repeat three times before he understood that she was saying, "a second body has been found at Woodgrove Park."

"I'll be there in ten minutes. Who answered the call?"

"Sarah investigated after the initial call. A little girl, skipping school, found the body."

John let out a, "Damn it. Call Neil and Eli. Have Neil bring the kid in. He's better with children than Sarah. Tell Sarah to seal off the area and to keep witnesses or onlookers on scene."

John hung up after Tara confirmed his orders. The woman had been a godsend since the day he met her. She knew how to handle the toughest of situations and how to keep Stiles occupied.

"Dr. Lee," John addressed. "I need you to come with me."

Dr. Lee went to get his kit.

-

Peter stepped away from the desk, walking to the window. There were a few scratches on the seal and down the side of the house. The bush was crushed. Peter rolled his eyes and put his back to it. He took in the room, suddenly curious as to what he could find inside. It couldn't hurt to try to find out what Stiles would deem worthy of hiding.

He started with the closet. He found a bunch of lacrosse stuff- brains didn't always mean taste- and a bunch of balled up shirts. On the top shelf, he found a shoe box that rattled. He pulled it down, inspecting the lid. There were a series of dates written on the lid, starting from from 2001. There was a picture of work boots on the side of the box. They were for a woman, the width too small and the ankle too slim.

Peter opened the lid and was surprised to find a stack of photos. The very top photo was of Stiles and his father, both with matching expressions. Scott leaned into the frame, a bottle rocket in one hand and a lighter in the other. It looked like the Fourth of July earlier that year. The photo under it was of Valentine's day. Allison hugged Scott, Lydia draped herself over Jackson, and Stiles held up a packet of Reese's.

The next was of New Years. Scott's mother was slumped over on the couch, feet firmly on the table. The sheriff was kicked back in a recliner. Both had their mouths open in a snore. Scott was on the floor, gesturing towards the television.

Peter picked up the thick stack and started to flip.

It was like looking at a life in reverse. The photos got grainier, the faces younger. There were holiday photos, lacrosse games, Stiles leaning out of his jeep window. There were pictures of Scott half sleep, of Melissa drinking coffee in the morning, of the sheriff arresting Mr. Clims after he broke into the gas station for a pack of cigarettes. There were calm moments and chaotic. One series of photos were taken of Stiles leaning against an old rail, the rail giving out, and Stiles going down with it.

Peter found pictures of others, some of people he didn't recognize, but who carried Stiles' dark eyes. Others had light hair and blue eyes. Their faces became less drawn the further he got into the photos, their hair less gray.

About a quarter in, the people he did know started to thin. Lydia and Allison disappeared, along with Danny and Jackson. It was just Scott and Stiles in most, Stiles with his hair short and Scott with his long. He realized that it was before the Argents moved in, before Laura and he graduated.

A little further in was one of a black and white goat, chewing on a bush. It was wearing a dog collar with a gold tag, mouth open as it ate. A chain was hooked to the collar and firmly attached to a stake in the ground. It had been taken from Stiles' window.

Peter put the photos back in the box and returned it to the top shelf.

He left, fighting a grin.

-

"You know Jackson is never going to let you live it down right?" Scott asked as they walked out to the parking lot.

Stiles had a good three hours of hiding in the library under his belt and was ready to go home. He just hoped he could and his house wasn't still marked as an active crime scene. Joe was waiting by his cruiser and was speaking on the phone. He didn't look like he was having a good day.

"He'll probably make himself a trophy," Stiles agreed.

Scott and Stiles dodged the worst of traffic, cutting between parked cars. Most of the students were tearing off the property like it was on fire. They honked horns at each other, shouted out windows. They glared and waited impatiently for the others to back up, to pull forward, to hit the main road.

The rate of fender benders at Beacon Hills High School was enough to affect the whole county's statistics.

Joe waved them into the back seat when they approached. They climbed in, pulling the door shut behind them. It automatically locked, leaving them staring through the steel grate, into the front seat. It wasn't their first time in the back of a police car, hardly even their hundredth. Stiles had done a rough estimation and come out with over three hundred and climbing.  

"Yes, sir," Joe spoke.

Stiles dumped his bag at his feet, unashamedly ease dropping. Joe hit the window, pointing at him. Stiles didn't move away.

"What do you think he's talking about?" Scott asked.

Stiles shrugged, even though he knew exactly what Joe and Tara were talking about.

Joe answered affirmative again, then hung up. He ducked into the car, his lanky body having to bend almost in half to fit. He shut the door and turned to them.

"Scott, you need me to drop you off at the clinic, right?" Joe asked.

His face was slightly green and gleamed with sweat.

"Yeah. I get off at eight."

"Connor will pick you up then."

"Can I go home?" Stiles questioned.

"Yes, but I'm suppose to stay with you until the Sheriff gets home."

"And when will that be?"

Joe got a thoughtful look on his face. He checked over his shoulder, like he was expecting to see Stiles' father. He hooked two fingers in the grate and leaned close.

"I shouldn't tell you this, but you know Woodgrove Park?"

"Yeah, we know it." Stiles said uneasily. Scott shifted beside him, getting the squirming, freaked out look on his face.

"A second body was found beside the public bathroom. It's definitely the same guy. You two better watch yourselves and stick to us like glue. We can only help you as much as you let us."

"Yeah," Stiles said, his mouth drier than the desert.

He shot a glance to Scott. Scott rubbed his sweaty hands on his pants, then dared Stiles to say a word. Stiles looked out the window, not liking the solid weight in his stomach.

-

Talia and Chris were in the study when Peter arrived home. The study was a large room with a single desk. The walls were lined with old books, most that he had read and archived. Talia had remodeled the room in earthy shades of red and brown. Their father had been a fan of leather and smoke, both of which no longer lingered in the room.

Peter let himself in, finding a seat near the window.

They didn't looked up from a map of the preserve. They were marking all the possible exits from the ravine, along with any possible hiding places within it. It would take them more than one night to search them all.

"If we push it, we might be able to finish the search in three nights." Talia murmured. She created another red 'x' with a marker. The map was littered with them.

"It will take us four," Chris disagreed.  "We still have patrols to do, and I need to speak to Allison first."

"You might want to add Deaton to the list," Peter advised.

Chris looked up, taking in his presence. "What did you find out?"

"It left Stiles' a heart, likely as a warning. With the damage it did to the house, it could have easily killed him."

"You broke into his house?" Talia demanded.

"I didn't have to break in, Talia. The window was already broken."

"I still wonder what possessed our parents to have you." She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"They figured out they could do better on their second try."

"Then why were you born?" Talia riposted.

"The heart," Chris broke in before the situation could escalate to blows. "Was it human?"

"No. It was a cow's."

Chris checked his watch, then lay down his marker. "We are starting at six?"

"Yes. I can speak to Deaton while you speak to Allison." Talia offered.

"Thank you. I will be back in two hours." Chris told her, gathering his things. He departed without another word.

Talia cocked her head, listening to Peter's heart as she asked, "care to discuss why you are being so helpful?"

"I'm always helpful," Peter replied haughtily.

"And it has nothing to do with the Stilinski boy?"

"No," he said shortly. Peter frowned at her. "Are you doing the big sister routine?"

"Are you doing the annoying little brother act?"

"That would require me to be annoying and would waste my time," Peter informed her. He stretched, his back cracking like a stack of water dynamite being set off.

"Of course. You'd rather use your time wisely and by trying to get into the boy's pants."

"I would much rather get him out of them."

Talia shook her head, drawing on the her rapidly dwindling patience. Motherhood hadn't prepared her for Peter. Peter had prepared her for motherhood.

She told herself to be a decent alpha as she spoke. "Peter, I'm not telling you no. All I'm asking is for you to use a little discretion."

"Talia, I think you already gave Derek this speech."

"Peter-"

"Talia."

Talia decided to table it. She had learned when to pick her arguments and when to set then aside. Any argument with Peter was a study in futility, unless you knew more about the subject and could deliver the information in a scathing fashion.

She started out of the room and paused. "Peter, you start dinner, okay?"

She heard Peter's sharp inhale and his muttered,  "you have a husband for that," as she walked away.

-

Deaton caught Scott between cleaning out the cat cages and taking out the trash. He had been running through all his chores. His energy was fired up, his movements quick and hyper. He looked on edge, a thought hovering close to the surface. 

He didn't even notice when Deaton walked up behind him in the examination room, his mind far away while his hands were busy.

"Scott, can I speak with you?"

Scott startled, dropping the trash can. It hit on its side and over balanced. It spilled out across the floor. Most of it was wrappers, from gauze and needles. There were a few odds and ends, like the Tootsies Roll can a ferret had gotten stuck in and the toy mouse a cat had nearly choked on.

"What's wrong?" He asked, bending to rake the trash back in. He tilted his head up to look.

Deaton helped him pick up the pieces, saying, "nothing's wrong. I just need to ask you something."

"Yeah?"

They finished cleaning up and stood. Scott pulled the trash bag out and tied it, mind drifting again. Deaton waited the few seconds it took for him to snap back.

"Did you see anything the night of that girl's death?"

Scott stiffened. His fingers played with the plastic knot. His posture straightened and his feet turned away. He kept his gaze locked on the floor as he answered.

"I only saw it out of the corner of my eye."

"It?"

Scott grimaced. "It's kinda hard to think of him as human after he ripped the hearts out of two people."

"Two?"

Scott winced guiltily. "Joe just told us."

Deaton patted his shoulder. He heard the door chime and glanced around the corner. He signaled for Talia to give him just a minute. She waved him away, picking up a magazine about birds.

Deaton lowered his voice, knowing Talia would hear anyway. Scott's shoulders eased though.

"I want you to know that you can come to me if you need anything. This is a safe place, Scott."

Scott noticed the serious tone and looked at him in surprise. "Okay," he bemused. 

Deaton gave a meaningful look at the trash bag. "I think the room would look better without that."

Scott gave a snorted, then headed for the back door.

-

The house was large for only two people. Half of the bedrooms were empty, the other two only half lived in. It had taken Allison three months to finish unpacking and another four before she was convinced Chris meant it when he said they were staying. Chris was done moving, done racing after the next monster. He owed it to his daughter to give her a permanent home, even if it was also home to deadly creatures sixty percent of the time.

Allison was in the living room, working through a Calculus problem. She sat with her legs under the coffee table, ankles crossed. Her phone sat beside her book. Lydia's picture on the screen as they chatted over loud speaker.

"Mrs. Clover was caught french kissing the janitor," Lydia informed her. "You should come up with 12."

"I got 72," Allison said, puzzled.

"Tell me what you did."

"I think I used the wrong formula."

"Allison, you don't use a formula."

"It says so at the top of the page." Allison tugged at her hair in frustration. 

"What page are you on?"

"394."

"Sweetie, you're on the wrong page."

"Fuck."

Chris stepped into the room, just inside her peripheral. She snapped her mouth shut, giving him a sheepish look. He stared at her until she reached for the phone. She held it close to her mouth.

"Lydia, I'll call you back."

"All right. The page we're on is 245." Lydia disconnected.

Allison sat her phone down. She folded her hands and smiled. "What's up, Dad?"

Chris sat down in the arm chair, dropping his elbows on his knees. When he thought of his daughter, he thought of the little girl with missing teeth, who use to beg him for more stories. He had always been uncomfortable reading fairy tales. It always felt like he was one slip away from telling her that monsters were real. Victoria had told him that Allison would be better off hearing the stories than having it thrown at her when she got old enough.

He still didn't know how he was going to tell his daughter. It was suppose to be him and Victoria who broke it to her. Victoria was gone though, and he was barely a hunter anymore. He wasn't even sure he wanted her to know.

He didn't regret the life, but it was heavy. It took so much. The few people who he had saved were rarely enough to make him forget the ones he had lost.

"Do you still have the tazer your mother gave you when you turned sixteen?"

Allison was caught off guard. "It's put away, with my compound bow."

"I want you to start carrying it with you."

"What?" Allison laughed. "Why?"

She was smiling, amused but confused. She was happy in Beacon Hills in a way he hadn't seen her anywhere else. She didn't refer to her friends as temporary. She made plans and kept them. She had even started a small rose garden behind the house, though she only kept it up because she didn't want them to die instead out of actual enjoyment.

"It's dangerous out there. I want you to be prepared. He just didn't want to take her happiness away.

"I can keep it in my car, I guess," she said. "But I don't know why I would need it."

"That's another thing I needed to speak to you about." He sighed. He already knew how well it was going to go over. "I don't want you to see Scott and Stiles."

"What?" She shouted, getting half way to her feet. Her knee hit the underside of the table. She dropped back down, hissing in pain. "Why?"

"It'll only be for a few days. Just long enough for the police to catch the guy and for you to be out of harm's way."

"I can handle myself. As you said, I'll be prepared." She had rebellion in her eyes.

Chris fought with the urge to give her orders. "I don't want you to have to be prepared, Allison. I just want you to be safe. Just steer clear for a few days, that's all I'm asking."

She gritted her teeth, and she glared at him. "I'll try," she grudgingly agreed.

He clapped his hands on his thighs. He would take what he could. He felt her glare as he got up. He checked the time, ignoring her loud displeasure. 

"I'll be back late. Don't wait up."

-

Allison got a text an hour later.

Scott said, _under armed guard. Want to come over?_

Allison hesitated. She weighed her options carefully, thinking about her conversation and how little she got to see Scott. She decided she had given her best effort at 'trying'.

She replied, _be over soon._

_I'll leave the window open for you._

_How chivalrous._

_I'll add a candle._

-

It was eight before John got home. He lingered on the front porch, staring at the plywood board that covered the window. Luke, from down the street, had drawn a skull with crossbones, and written 'burglars beware' in capital letters. Luke's father, who was a contractor for the city, had stopped by to repair the window. 

He wondered if Gemini and Antonia would mind having a eighteen year old dumped in their laps too much. They'd probably decide to keep him, given they could wean him from the internet. If not, Stiles would go mad.

John's key stuck in the door. He rattled it a few times before it gave and clicked.

Stiles was in the living room watching Reality TV. He had cleaned up the glass and piled the movies back on the table. The papers, possible from a case or from a homework assignment, were gone.

Joe, a action movie man if ever there was one, looked like he was staring into the pit of hell. At the tail end of a fourteen hour work day himself, John could understand the sentiment. Joe got up to gather his coat when he saw him.

"Thanks, Joe," John said, stopping him before he had the chance to dart out the door.

"It wasn't the worst assignment," Joe waved off. "Stiles cooked his special."

"Do I get any?" John asked him son.

"You get chicken," Stiles said to the TV.

John didn't call Joe a lucky bastard. Instead, he told him goodnight and locked the door behind him. Stiles was leaning against the wall when he turned around, his gaze intense.

"Spill it, kiddo."

"Was the heart from the newest victim?"

John blinked. He never could guess what was going to come out of Stiles' mouth. He had been expecting a rant about health, or maybe about long hours. He should have known.

"No," he said softly. "It wasn't even human."

"Oh." He slumped against the wall. He looked up after a moment. "You don't think it killed because I got away, do you?"

"Stiles, people like him kill because they want to. Nothing you do or don't do will change that fact. The only way to stop him is to catch him. What he does between isn't anyone's fault but his."

Stiles looked down. "You gonna eat?" He eventually asked.

"Yeah. Then I'm going to turn in. It's been a long day."

"I'm going to head on up. Let me know when you start that way."

"All right."

Stiles backed away, then turned to go up the stairs. John resigned himself to healthy dinner and a light beer.

-

Stiles composed a To Do list inside his head as he sat on his bed. He didn't like how long it was and how much of it was illegal to the extent of jail time. The other half was almost certain to get him killed. Except for the part about getting the smell out of his room. The smell itself might be enough to do him in.

His father peered around his door jam. His shirt was unbuttoned and his shoes kicked off. He looked dead tired, the bags beneath his eyes big enough to redirect rivers. He was starting to get a five o'clock shadow, which softened his face, but made him look older.

"I guess we're going to have to get you a new door."

"I'm thinking about just getting one of those bead doors. They have some with pictures in them."

"I shudder to think which picture you would choose," John drawled dryly.

"Tie dye sound good? What about plaid?"

"Goodnight, Stiles" John said firmly.

"Night, Pops."

"Love ya, kid." He called over his shoulder.

Stiles shouted back, "love you too."

Stiles waited for forty minutes before calling Scott. His phone rang four times before Scott answered. 

"Yeah?" He gasped.

"Dude, are you having an asthma attack?"

"Uh, no." He said. "What do you want, Stiles?"

"I need you to meet me in fifteen minutes."

"Why?" A female voice asked.

"Is that Allison? Oh God, are you two having sex?"

The level of sass in Allison's voice was enough to rival Stiles'. "We were about to."

"Scott, I'm sorry, but you're going have put the mouse back in the house, kiss Allison goodbye, and get your ass over here."

"Hang on," he said.

There was a long, muffled conversation before Scott came back.

"Me and Allison will be over in a few."

"Dude," Stiles hissed. "You can't bring her!"

"Then how am I even going to get over there?"

"Fine." Stiles huffed. "But don't tell her anything."

"That isn't going to fly. I think we'll have to."

Stiles took the phone away from his ear. He strangled it for a few seconds as a surrogate Scott. He let out a small nose whistle of frustration before calming down. He brought the phone back to his ear.

"Fine. We'll do it when you get here."

"Okay," he agreed.

Stiles jabbed the end call button and threw himself back down on his bed. He took a few moments to collect himself before getting to his feet. Stiles went to his closet, pulling the door open. He stopped, blinking away the vivid sense of Déjà vu.

His back pack was hidden under his lacrosse equipment. He checked through it, making sure nothing was missing or removed. Everything was still inside, including a very hard granola bar he didn't remember having forgotten.

He thumped it on the ground, but it didn't break. He was thoroughly impressed that there existed a candy that, if not eaten, could be used as building material or even a deadly weapon.

Stiles slung the bag over his shoulder. He checked to make sure his father was asleep, then went to the window. He opened it, easing one leg over the seal, then the other. He gripped it tightly, lowering himself out. He did so slowly and carefully, feet slipping off the side of the house.

He didn't want a repeat performance of the night before.

He was about to push off so that he could land on the other side of the bush when a voice spoke from below.

"What are you doing?"

Stiles let out a startled shout and dropped straight down.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles' ass made first contact with the bush. The twigs snapped, the leaves rustled, and then the bush gave fully under his weight. It was crushed flat, much like Stiles' dignity.

Stiles blinked several times, dazed from the abrupt descent. The twigs dug into his back, legs, and ass. He shifted, trying to climb his way out of the bush. His heart skipped merrily ahead, leaving him to figure out what had happened.

"There are a lot of things I could say about you falling around me, but you've probably already thought of them."

"Peter," Stiles snarled before he even had to think about it.

Stiles tipped his head back to glare up at him. Peter smiled, leaning over him. Stiles was a overturned turtle flailing for help. Peter pulled back, keeping just outside of Stiles' reach. Stiles slumped into the ground, shrinking under Peter's amused gaze.

"Need some help?"

"Yeah. But since I don't see anyone capable of helping, I'll do it myself." Stiles snapped.

He rocked from side to side, trying to get his hand on the ground to push himself off. The bush tried to devour him, the unbroken branches getting caught on his clothes and holding him captive. He kicked, found the ground, and flipped out of the bush. He hit the ground with a little thump, a small amount of dirt billowing into his face.

"Fuck," he muttered, sitting up in his knees. "That was smooth."

"I found it quiet entertaining," Peter informed him.

Stiles glared at him over his shoulder. He dusted off his clothes and pulled leaves from his hair. The earth was damp enough to stick, but not enough wet him. It felt cold, through and he knew was going to have fresh bruises in the morning.

He was becoming a poster child for clumsiness.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded.

Peter shrugged. "You never actually answered me."

"Answered- Are you fucking serious?"

"About as much as usual."

"You're creeping around my house because-" Stiles broke off with a frustrated noise. "It looked like a fucking serial killer. Okay? Now get lost."

"What do you define as serial killer characteristics?" Peter asked, stepping forward.

Stiles looked him up and down once, then spread his hands. "Creeping around, persistent lack of human decency, bubble breaking. Oh look, you have them all."

"I'm not the only one creeping around in the dark. You did just climb out of a window, Stiles." His words were half mocking, half humored.

Stiles poked him hard in the chest. He winced, feeling like he had just jabbed his finger into a wall. What the fuck? Were his bones made of metal?

"That's my window, buddy. I can climb out of it if I wish." Stiles pulled his hand back, giving his finger a shake.

"In the middle of the night?" Peter looked like he was trying not to laugh in his face.

Then again, Hales always looked like that. They had the amused superiority air down to a science. They rarely ever actually laughed out loud. No, they rather smirk and be assholes.

"Yes. It's great exercise." He clamped down on the words, 'not that you need any.'

To anyone else, his father included- and God, that was a fucking death sentence right there. His father would kill both of them if he found Stiles outside.- it looked like a midnight rendezvous. It looked like he was sneaking out to see Peter, who was home from college, and they had always been at each others throats- It even sounded like they were doing a middle schooler's version of flirting. They were pulling pigtails. 

Stiles flushed from his from chest to forehead. Peter tilted his head, inhaling sharply. He lifted an eyebrow.

"What are you thinking about?"

"I was thinking it was time for you to leave."

Stiles reached out, trying to push Peter away from his house, back toward the tree line. He was planning on propelling him straight into the woods, much like a bouncer escorting him out of a club. But Peter didn't give an inch so Stiles slammed into him.

Their heads collide with a loud crack.

"Son of a bitch!" Stiles swore, swaying back to grab his head.

Peter grunted, putting one hand to his forehead.

"Ow, how is your head so fucking hard?" Stiles hissed.

"Why did you headbutt me?"

"I thought it was a good idea," Stiles said with every ounce of sarcasm in his body. "It was an accident."

Peter smile was pained, a wince still obvious on his face. "You could have just said you wanted to get closer to me."

If Peter got any cockier, Stiles was going to strangle him.

"Did you come back just to give me a conniption?"

"Would you rather have a kiss?"

There was an abrupt halt in all mental processes. Stiles stared at him in surprised. Peter stared back, eyes dropping to his chest. Stiles felt his heart do a giddy little uptick. He had a startling feeling of vulnerability, even though he knew Peter couldn't hear his heart. He folded his arms over his chest, head throbbing.

"You're not serious." He tried to state, but it tilted sideways half way through and came out like question.

Thinking Peter was hot was one thing. Almost everyone thought it. Peter knowing that he thought it was something else. A mortified heat started creeping up his spine and to the back of his neck. He threw his chin up, unwilling to slump off like a kicked dog.

"Was that a question?"

Stiles glared at him. He didn't sound like Peter was teasing, he could never know for certain. Peter was at the top of his Do Not Trust list. He had to be screwing with him.

He said as much.

"I can prove I'm not."

"Yeah?" Stiles dared him. "What are you gonna do? Kiss me?"

There was no way-

Their teeth clashed on the first press of lips.

-

"Where is he?" Scott asked, drumming his fingers on the dash.

They sat at the end of Stiles' street, waiting. They were parked in the shadow between two street lights. Allison's small Camry was running, but the lights were off. She had been surprisingly patient with Scott, had even been kind enough to drive him. He suspected it was her curiosity that kept her from saying no.

"He's probably having problems getting out of the house. He does live with the Sheriff, Scott."

"Maybe I should call-"

The sudden hand on the window had both of them jumping. Scott was almost in Allison's seat. Stiles laughed on the other side, pointing at the back door. Allison started to laugh after a second, unlocking the door.

Scott twisted around in his seat, slapping Stiles in the the shoulder.

"Where have you been?"

"I got side tracked," Stiles said, tossing his bag down. He sat back, buckling his belt up.

"Doing what?"

"Stuff. Can we go?"

"Sure," Allison said, looking at him in the rear view mirror. "Where are we going?"

"Woodgrove Park."

She flipped the lights on, flooding the road with an almost blue glow. She shifted into drive, but didn't move. She looked back and forth between them, determination on her face.

"When do I get an explanation?"

"Long story short, we're trying to catch the serial killer." Stiles said casually.

"What."

-

Stiles lips were still buzzing when they got to the park. The felt puffy every time he licked them and he could feel his heart beat in them. He tried to ignore them, but they were insistent on being noticed.

He couldn't ignore the kiss anymore than he could ignore his lips. It had been a decent kiss, minus the knocking of teeth. It had changed rapidly from a firm touch to hard pressure. There had been the slick slide of lips as they both pushed into it, mouths opening and moving. Stiles had stepped closer, their bodies touching from hip to shoulders, mouths sealed.

There was the brief touch of tongue, then Peter had pulled back, glaring at the woods. Stiles gasps for air had been cut off with a final kiss, then Peter had strolled into the woods, tossing a cocky grin over his shoulder.

Stiles had hurried to the car.

There were a myriad of emotions swirling in his stomach. Some of it was giddiness, brought on by making out with a rather hot person. The confusion came with the fact that the hot person was Peter. He was still half convinced he was being screwed with, but the kiss seemed little over the top if so.

Stiles put his worries away and got out of the car. He slammed the door behind him. Allison followed behind. They had explained everything, minus the monster part.

"You can wait here, if you want," Stiles offered, swinging his backpack over his shoulder.

She gave him a flat look. She pulled out a bulky black object from her purse. With a switch of a button, electricity burst between two prongs. They eyed it until she turned it off. The image of pale blue sparks stayed with them.

"You two might need some protection." She told them.

Stiles nodded. "Scott, your girlfriend is terrifying and hot."

Scott's face was slack and mouth agape. Stiles knew that look. Stiles nudged him hard, pulling him away from fantasy land.

"It happened by the bathrooms." Stiles said out loud.

"Do you have a flashlight?" Scott asked, following.

They entered the park through the east entrance. It had large gates that were never closed and the biggest parking lot. There was one other car, but otherwise empty. The car looked like it had been there for a while.

"We don't want anyone to see us." Stiles said. "There should be an officer somewhere around here. We have to be quiet and quick."

"What are we looking for?" Allison asked.

They followed the sidewalk, which wound between trees and benches. If they followed it long enough, they would come to the restrooms. If they went further, they would find the playground. The trees dripped with left over rain, the smell of pine needles heavy in the air. A few insects buzzed by, but stayed away for the most part.

"Anything that might help us."

"That was vague," Allison muttered.

"We're looking for anything that the cops might not have been able to pick up on." Scott tried to explain.

They might have left out the visions too.

"And we'll be able to how?"

Stiles saw the building around the bend. A thin, shiny line ran from it and disappeared around the corner. The police tape wavered in the wind, showing exactly where the the body had been. Stiles broke from Scott and Allison, hurrying to it.

He couldn't make out many colors in the dark, but he knew where to go. He ducked under the tape, their surprised hisses following him.

"Stiles-"

Stiles popped up on the other side. He took his backpack off, tossing it at Scott, who fumbled it but didn't drop it. They both halted on the other side of the line.

Stiles didn't pay them any mind.  He stared at his feet, letting them guide him across the grass. He didn't feel like he was in complete control anymore. He was being pulled forward.

A strange hum filled his ears. He stopped, staring down at the dark splotch on the grass, an impression made by a body and blood. He bent down, knees popping. The dark spot seemed to get darker, a living entity all its-

"Stiles," Allison's voice made him freeze.

His fingers were outstretched, ready to press to the blood stain. The hum was coming from his own mouth. It was a familiar tune, one he had heard recently but couldn't name. It wasn't the music that stopped him though.

The ground was moving. The ground was fucking moving, not the shadow. Stiles got to his feet in a hurry, pulling out his phone. Fuck subtle, he needed to see what it was.

His phone lit up as he fumbled to get to the flashlight app. His hands shook, though he didn't know why. A cold chill swept through him. It felt like someone had walked over his grave. His hair stood on end all over his body, goosebumps rising up next. There was a weight in the air that hadn't been there a second before. The insects went dead silent.

He looked up, his phone tumbling over his fingers and to the ground.

She looked down at him with hands on her hips and a strange expression on her face.

Wherever her phone was, it was finally silent.

-

A loopy 2 glowed brightly on her chest. He stared at it with a growing sense of horror. She reached out, drawing his attention to her hand. Carefully, she rested her hand against his chest.

The bruise throbbed beneath her icy touch. He met her eyes. She didn't look angry or sad. She looked resigned. She was dead. She couldn't do anything about it.

She drew her hand away, eyes boring holes in his shirt. He looked down, his stomach giving a violent lurch. He could see the side way six glow through his shirt.

Her lips moved. She didn't speak, but the word came anyway.

"Marked."

But not claimed.

He barely managed to get under the tape and to the bushes before he started to heave, his dinner coming back up. He bent double, bracing himself on his knees. The air lightened.

"Stiles, are you okay? What the hell is going on? Scott?" Allison demanded, coming to his side.

He waved her back, trying to breathe between gags. Scott laid a hand between his shoulder blades. He ducked down so he could whisper without being heard.

"What happened?"

Stiles shook his head. "Get my phone, would you?"

Scott took the hint.

Allison caught him before he could go under the crime scene tape. "Scott," she demanded.

"We might not have been entirely honest with you," Scott admitted.

"What did you leave out," Allison asked with a frown.

Scott opened his mouth. When nothing came out, he shrugged. He crab waddled his way under, then straightened. He clicked the flashlight app on and swept the light back and forth, quickly scanning for Stiles' phone. 

"Scott," she repeated.

Stiles wiped his mouth and walked over to them. He was pale and shaky. He bumped her once, giving her an apologetic smile.

"The serial killer might not be entirely human. Or at all."

"What?"

"Fuck!"

They both looked at Scott, who pointed down. The phone had fallen where the ground appeared to move. It moved because there were hundreds of worms wiggling out of the ground and around each other, in a body shape.

-

Allison didn't say a word for the entire drive. Scott and Stiles kept glancing at each other. They told her everything, monsters and visions included, but she just nodded. They didn't know if she was pissed, if she was in shock, or if she thought they were nuts.

They felt like two children who had been warned that their parent would turn the car around and they hadn't listened. Allison's face was impassive, but her body was tight. She pulled into her driveway, cutting off the car. She sat there for a moment, staring at the dash.

"Allison?" Scott prodded.

"I need to show you something." She said in a hushed tone.

She unbuckled and got out of the car. They scurried after her, both close behind as she entered her house through her back door. She led them through the dark rooms, heading for the stairs. She jogged up them and they followed at a slower pace.

She went in her bedroom and pulled a book off her shelf. It was bound in a dull leather, which looked soft with age. She wrapped her arms around it as she waited for them. She nodded them towards her bed, where they both took a seat.

She chewed on her lips for a moment before starting.

"My parents use to read to me a lot as a kid. You know, Harry Potter, A Series of Unfortunate Events, normal stuff. They also use to read me really morbid fairy tales, like in here." She took a deep breath and continued.

"When I was ten, we were living in Maine. It was late fall, so most of the trees were bare and it was really cold. The entire town was under a sundown curfew. If you were out after dusk, there was a very real chance you would never get home."

Stiles was starting to suspect that this wasn't going to be a story about childhood friendship and bonding over a crisis. Scott leaned forward, attention riveted. He nodded for her to keep going.

"People were going missing. Never from their homes, but close. They would disappear from their backyards or their drive way. Sometimes, they would park in the parking deck connected to their building and not even reach the door. People were terrified.

"Eventually, bodies started to show up. That's all anyone would talk about. Even the kids in my school did. Things were getting so bad, people were moving away. And then, one day, it just stopped.

"All of the missing people turned up, most of them dead, but one or two still alive. They refused to say what had happened. A week later, my parents told me to start packing."

She turned the book over in her hands, looking down at it. Her fingers trailed over the cover, danced down the spine. She opened it, flipping through the pages with ragged edges.

She stopped and turned the book around, showing a page. The words were in French, but there was a picture of a short creature with jagged teeth. It looked like a gnome, but it was without a cap and tiny clothes. It looked fucking terrifying.

"My mother gave me this on my sixteenth birthday, along with the taser. She told me this was the book she used read to me. I read it cover to cover. The more I read, the more familiar it seemed, not just to the stories I was told, but to the shit that happened everywhere we went. Maine was just one of them.

"I realized that every time, after the story was finished, I would ask if monsters were real." She paused to steel her words. "They never said no."

"Are you saying-"

"You believe us?"

She looked away for a second, then squared her shoulders. She looked them dead in the eye. "I never stopped believing in monsters."

-

Scott looked like he had just fallen in love all over again. He stared up at Allison, that sappy flower to the sun look on his face. She shifted uncomfortably until she saw his look. She responded with a dopey look of her own.

Stiles slipped the book out of her hands while they had eye sex. He flipped through the pages, absorbed in the pictures. He didn't know what half of them were, couldn't even pronounce any of the names at the top of the pages. He finished flipping after a few minutes and closed the book, mind racing.

"Allison," he started, interrupting her and Scott's moment. "Do you have anymore books like this?"

"Yeah. We have a lot of them all over the house. You're thinking they might help?"

Stiles said thoughtfully, "I think it's a good possibility."

Allison crooked a finger at them. "Well, let's have a look."

-

Lydia's phone went off at 4:45. She turned off her alarm, staring into the darkness around Jackson's bed. She stretched, much like a cat, a feline smile on her face. Jackson grumbled, rolling on his side. She eased out of bed and walked to the bathroom with smooth steps.

She turned the hot water all the way up, waiting for it to warm and start to steam. After a moment, she turned the cold water on just enough to keep from burning her skin. She stepped under the hot spray, her body turning pink in the heat. She hummed while she showered, some piece she had heard in Art History.

She got out before her fingers started to wrinkle, pulling a towel around her body. She stood in front of the mirror, staring at the fog gathered there. She wiped it off with her hand, her palm making a squeaky sound.

She cleared the mirror, watching herself become visible one squeaky swipe at a time.

She could see into the bedroom, where Jackson was sitting up slowly. His hair stood on end, spiked up from sleep. He blinked bleary at the wall, twisting around to look at her. She smiled at the mirror.

For a split second, she thought her reflection didn't smile back.

-

Stiles crept into the house just before five, his backpack weighed down with the few books he had been able to fit. They had flipped through a hundred pages without a single clue. The approaching dawn had broken up their party, sending Scott and Stiles home before Chris could find them there, or worse, their parents could find them gone.

Stiles walked up the stairs carrying his shoes. He could hear his father's soft snores as he went into his bedroom. His own eyes felt heavy. He dropped his bag next to his desk, then went to shut the window. A cold wind came through, creeping into the floor boards and making the house groan.

Stiles stuck his head out, looking at the damage down to the bush. He was tired, his eyes starting to blur, and his thoughts wandering, but he felt the same giddy jump in his stomach.

He shut the window and went to bed. He was out like a light. The last color he saw behind his eyelids was a startling yellow, like a traffic light.


	6. Chapter 6

Laura was waiting for Peter when he left Stiles. She grinned at him, her eyes just a shade brighter than normal. She leaned towards him as he passed, inhaling deeply. She started to laugh.

"Did I interrupt?" She asked. The leaves crunched under her feet, but she was otherwise silent. She walked too carefully for the twigs to give under her passing weight.

He glanced at her sideways, hardly deeming her worthy of his gaze. "I doubt you even know what you interrupted."

She rolled her eyes. "You smell like a horny dog," she informed him.

"And you smell like your roommate. Do we need to have the wolves and the humans talk, Laura?"

Laura hummed, strolling pass him. "I wonder what Mom is gonna say when I tell her you blew off half of your patrol to visit Stiles."

Peter caught her by the back of her neck, forcing her to march on. "Talia isn't going to find out, because you'd be admitting to blowing it off yourself."

She shrugged him off easily, her sharp eyes glowing for a second. Her annoyance faded back into amusement, her lips curling upwards.

"Are you going to make cow eyes every time he walks by?"

"Do I look like Derek?"

"A little. I mean, you two are related."

"Astute observation. Did you make it yourself?"

Laura punched him in the ribs, hard enough to bruise a human. He twisted when she went to hit him again, letting it slide off. Laura let it go, walking deeper into the woods. They went to finish their rounds, keeping an ear out for any howls and their noses trained for any lingering scents. They didn't find anything for the rest of the night.

-

Stiles woke as his father was leaving. John leaned on his doorway, speaking loud enough to jolt him out of sleep.

"Stiles, get up. Time for school."

Stiles sat up groggily. His eyes felt gritty, and he had the taste of dirt in his mouth.  He rubbed his face, trying to wake up, despite the headache forming behind his eyes. He was irritable and just wanted to throw himself back on the bed.

Instead, he said, "I'm up, I'm up." He narrowed his eyes. "Why are you?"

"I have a murderer to catch," the sheriff reminded him unnecessarily.

Stiles paused in his retort, looking his father up and down. He looked worn, his eyes cradled by shadows, his temples a shade grayer. His uniform was wrinkled and in need of a good was, his gold badge smudged by finger prints. He looked tired and done, ready for it all to be over.

Stiles couldn't help the guilt in his chest.

"Any day now," Stiles assured him.

John gave him an odd look before starting out the door. "Get up," he repeated over his shoulder.

Stiles had a thought and scrambled up. He clung to the door frame as he leaned around and shouted, "can I take my jeep?"

John stopped half way down the stairs and called back, "Brenda will follow you to school either way."

With a grimace, he hollered, "works for me."

It didn't work well for him, but it was the best he could do. He got up, swapping his dirty clothes for something that didn't make him feel grimy. He grabbed the bag full of books off the floor and hurried down the stair, the bright sunlight filtering through the curtains onto the floor. He passed through them with a swirl of dust motes, skipping breakfast all together.

Brenda waved to him from her cruiser and he waved back, noting that she was drinking Mt. Dew. She guzzled the rest as he climbed into his jeep. The air was crisp enough for him to turn on his heater and watch the windows fog. He scrubbed them with his shirt sleeve and backed out of the drive.

He hit every yield light to the school, Brenda's presence behind him keeping the lead out of his foot. It took ten minutes more than usual for him to get to there.

-

Lydia rubbed her temples as she waited for Allison to finish fishing a notebook out of her locker. Her entire morning had been a series of startled jumps and annoying noises. She was irritable and snappish, already having torn Jackson to pieces. He assumed she was menstruating and she assured him she could make him experience the same pain first hand if he didn't back down. He did, but she remained ready.

"You okay?" Allison asked.

She had a thick book in her arms, something old and musty smelling. The worn gold script on the front looked like Roman numerals. It looked heavy, Allison constantly shifting it from one arm to the other, her body mimicking the move from one leg to the other.

"Fine," Lydia murmured.

The metal doors squealed as another student pulled them open. The heavy metal dragged across the floor, adding another line of black to the tile. She closed her eyes, pressing her thumbs hard into her temples. The two students walked pass her, their shoes slapping the floor. One yellow shoe kept with slipping, worn sole against new wax. It lost traction and grazed the floor, making a sound akin to a dying bird.

The two students stopped at a locker across from them, the one with bad shoes digging for homework.

Lydia kept them in sight, but turned back to Allison. Allison didn't look at her, but past her, towards the door. Lydia turned as it clumped close, sealing the cold air on the other side.

Scott and Stiles cut their way through the crowd towards them. Stiles readjusted his backpack over one shoulder, the material poked out by the edge of a book. The weight pulled into the meat of his arm, making him hoist it whenever it grew painful or slipped. Scott did the same thing with his own bag, though it looked significantly less strained by whatever load it carried.

"Hey, guys. Sleep well?" Allison asked.

"Peachy," Stiles muttered.

"Enough to leave me feeling like a zombie," Scott told her with a kiss. "You two?"

"I had got a few hours," Allison said with a tired smile.

Lydia dropped her hands and looked at them. They looked like a collection of sleep deprived idiots who spent all night studying. Lydia concentrated on remembering if she was forgetting an project that, but came up negative. What had they been doing all night?

"I slept well, thank you. What kept you three up so late?" She asked.

They exchanged quick glances before looking away. None of them could look her in the face, or each other, as they all struggled to put their activities into words. 

"We started a book club," Stiles blurted when the pause had become too long, the silence more condemning than words.

Lydia was so close to telling them she didn't have time for this bullshit, but she did. What else was she going to do for seven hours?

"Oh? What are you reading?"

"Historical fantasy," Allison swiftly intervened.

"As in, actual witches at the Salem Trials?"

"Exactly."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why is that the chosen genre?"

"Scott picked it out." Stiles said on a yawn. He leaned against the locker, closing his eyes for a moment.

His color looked off, his skin paler than normal, his hair darker than it should have been. He looked ill. He needed sleep.

The boy with the terrible shoes walked by, grating on Lydia's nerves and ears with every step. She snapped.

"Will you pick up your feet?"

The two boys glanced at her, confusion and anger mixed on each face. She didn't falter in her glare. The taller of the two boys caught the one with the bad shoes' arm.

"Come on, Jeff. Ignore her."

"Better yet, listen to her and learn something," she shot back.

The two disappeared around a corner. Her three friends looked at her in surprise and disapproval. She rolled her neck, straightening spine. A good posture was enough to fool people into thinking another had psychical strength. Lydia's power lay with her mind, not in her fists.

"I was teaching him an important lesson."

"To fear women?"

"All smart men do," she said, fixing her hair. She walked away from them, her own heels making perfect clicks on the hard floor.

-

"Did you find anything else?" Allison asked as they fell into step.

Scott and Stiles shook their heads. She had stayed up until she had heard her father's SUV pull into the garage. She had hurriedly hid the books and crawled into bed. His feet had been on the steps when she switched off her lamp and dropped her head on the pillow.

Her father had cracked her door open, looking in on her. He had lingered long enough for the trembling fear in his stomach to subside and for her to drop off. She had dreamed of teeth and claws and people screaming, of those nights filled with locked doors and whispered worries. She had dreamed of Maine and all that came with it.

"Not yet." Stiles had a look in his eye, making his face determined. "I have all day to finish these books. There has to be something."

"If not in these, than in another."

"Why do you even have all these?" Scott wondered. "Is your father a collector or something?"

"I think my grandfather was. We inherited most of the books after he died."

"Weird guy, but he might just save our lives," Stiles clapped them both on the back, then pushed between them. "I'll  see you next period."

He left Allison and Scott in the hallway, their hands twining together. He ducked into his class, relieved to find white washed walls and brown chairs. He sat close to the back, bypassing the few early students. They filled the room with a dull chatter that bled into the background. 

Stiles pulled one of the books from his bag, along with a text book. He opened the leather bound volume and started flipping. He only stopped when the teacher walked in, a vase of buttercups in hand.

They expanded to fill his field of vision, the color sharp against his eyes. Where had she gotten so many fresh buttercups, when the trees only had a few leaves? Why were they so bright it hurt to look at them?

-

The sheriff stopped by the veterinarian clinic just after nine. He had the lab report in his hand, the one that told him the heart belonged to a Holstein. It wouldn't be easy to find the cow it came from. 

The heart could have been sold at a butchers, or could have been removed by the murderer. The cuts on the cow's heart were clean, just as the aortas in the victims had been neatly served. The care given to the hearts were so unlike what had been done to the rest of them.

Whatever this monster wanted, it had something to do with that particular organ. 

Deaton was at the front desk for once, finishing up on an order form for more antibiotics. He sat his pen down when the sheriff leaned his hip against the counter.

Deaton glanced at the glass door when it shut, then at his office with the door half open. He had been up most of the night, going through his books, as he had promised. He was running through them quickly, his resources dwindling with ever page.

He was on the last book, a small bestiary written in Asia a few hundred years ago. She had traveled though many countries, trying to document some of the lesser known folk tales. She had managed to write four volumes before her death, a combination of illness and blunt force trauma.

He asked, "How can I help you, Sheriff?"

"I was wondering if you could help me with something." He opened the file and handed it to him, letting him see the data sheet about the heart.

Deaton took the file, scanning over it. "Is this related to the murders?" He didn't look up as he read.

"Yes," John answered.

"Was this found with one of the victims?" He asked. He knew exactly where it had been found, courtesy of Talia.

"No. That was found in my son's room."

Deaton looked up. "Stiles?" He feigned surprise.

A semi-permanent frown was etched into the Sheriff's face.  He had the air of a worried man pretending he wasn't.  Deaton fingers itched. He sat the file down, no longer looking at it.

"Can you tell me if there has been any recent cattle mutilations? I'm running on the hope that this guy likes it get his hands dirty."

Deaton put his fingers together, thinking. Most of his colleagues that he spoke to regularly were people like himself. They typically served small animals and strange people.

"I haven't heard of any, but I can ask around. Most dairy farmers keep cattle deaths to themselves. The publicity tends to that brings people who want to believe that the truth is out there." 

"Thank you. Call me if you find anything," John offered him a card with his cell number scrawled on the back.

Deaton took it with the promise to do so. The sheriff gathered the folder and left. Deaton waited, then went into his office. There was something nagging at him, like a forgotten sentence in an old book. He continued to read through the volume as he made phone calls.

He was talking to Cathy Walker when he found something that made him stop mid-sentence.

"Cathy, I'm sorry, but I need to call you back."

"Sure. I'll call Mr. Locke and inquire about his bovines' health."

When she hung up, he called Talia. She was sleepy sounding until he told her that he may have found something.

-

Peter sat next to his nephew half way through lunch. He smiled as Derek  ducked his head and groaned. Isaac paused before sitting down across from them, to the left of Boyd and Erica. Isaac had an apple in his hand, a large chunk already torn out of it. He chewed loudly, attention on the door behind them.

"What are you doing here?" Derek demanded.

"Visiting."

Erica scoffed. "Stalking."

"Erica, lovely as always," Peter greeted and gave her a nasty smile.

"She has a point," Isaac crunched down on the apple. "You've been pretty creepertastic lately."

"Isaac, I'll only accept your input when you stop staring at the gooey twosome over there."

Isaac went red from his hair to his chin. He gave more attention than was needed to scraping the fruit off the core. Derek sunk an elbow into his side, giving him a sour look. Peter glared back, lifting one shoulder. Isaac looked up, whole body perking up.

Peter didn't turn to look, listening to the sound of a familiar heartbeat go from calm to thudding. His smell went from soft to sour, the smell of confusion and anger clear across the room. He shot to his feet, his bag thumping across the table.

"I'll see you later," he muttered on his way out the door.

Peter stood up with a cheery smile to the three wolves on the other side of the table. He ruffled Derek's hair on impulse, saying, "duty calls."

Erica snorted. "More like booty calls."

-

Stiles hurried down the hall, ducking his head. He felt surrounded, like he was being smothered. Everywhere he looked, the color yellow seemed to be. It pressed in around him, swallowing him up. He was sick of the color. It was like browbeating him.

"Where are you going so fast?"

Stiles didn't startle. He turned his head, taking Peter's appearance in. He was wearing jeans and a jacket over a white shirt. There weren't any spring colors on his person, his eyes a shade too light to be considered sky or sea. Stiles checked himself, tearing his eyes away.

He had enough practice to at least attempt not to be caught ogling. It was enough that he automatically changed his pace to match Peter's. It was even worse that he angled himself towards him, leaning in a scant few inches.

"Nowhere. I'm just taking a walk. A guy can take a walk, can't he?" Stiles asked, pulling himself straight and slightly away.

They brushed together as they turned with the hallway. A shiver went up his arm, warm and intense. And, yep, he was sudden interested, very interested. It was pretty much like going from five miles per hour to eighty.

"Is that all you're doing?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Breathing, living, thinking. Need I go on?"

"And what, Stiles, are you thinking about?" He asked.

Stiles stopped, turning to face him head on. Peter looked him up and down slowly, getting his meaning across. Stiles felt a flush take over, a heady rush of arousal threading through him. His brain went right back to the night before.

"If I say you, what will you do?"

Peter stepped into his space, hands landing on his face. The kiss was expected.

-

The locker room door banged against the wall as they fell through. Stiles bag hit the floor with a thump, Stiles pulling away from the wet mouth against his own. He felt guilty about the books, but then he was taking a deep breath and sinking back into the pleasant haze that came from kissing.

Peter put his hands on his hips, steering him backwards. Stiles fumbled around, feet bumping together as he was propelled backwards. He settled his arms around Peter's neck. He opened his mouth to the probing tongue, his eyes wide open. Peter's pupils were blowing wide, the blue irises eclipsed by black.

Peter's hands were hot on his hip bones, the warmth seeping through his jeans. His grip was tight, just a shy of being too much. Stiles felt light headed. His lungs burned with the need for air, but his lips tingled as if they were coming awake. He wanted more, felt it in the tight ball of need in his gut.

His back hit the Coach's door, his head bouncing off the glass. It rattled and he broke away from the kiss.

"Ow," he gasped, hand shooting up to grab his head.

"My bad," Peter offered.

"Just keep with the kissing my brains out part."

Peter dipped forward, brushing his lips across Stiles' check. They were slick with spit, sticking on every other kiss. His teeth grazed his neck, the sting lost to pleasure. 

"Wouldn't you rather come your brains out?" Peter asked against his skin.

"Oh God," Stiles choked out on a half moan. He couldn't piece together a better reply than, "yeah, let's do that. Full speed ahead."

"Then open the door," Peter suggested.

He worried the thin skin under Stiles' ear. Stiles arched, his back leaving the door and exposing his neck. He dropped one hand, fumbling his way down the wooden door, searching for the handle. His other hand twisted into Peter's hair, strands tangling between his clenching fingers. His right hand struck metal and he twisted it.

It didn't turn more than a quarter inch. He jiggled it. He belatedly realized that it was locked, mind too occupied by the feel of a tongue dragging up his throat, passing over his jugular.

"It's- it's locked," he panted. He mentally patted himself on the back, glad he wasn't drooling all over the damn place.

Next to the discovery of porn, Peter Hale's body pressed against his was the most erotic thing that to ever happened to him. It was a very adventurous life he led, full of danger, daring, and the knowledge that the zipper pressed against his thigh was someone else's. The hard on behind it was too.

For a millisecond, he went completely  brain dead. He flat lined from shock. Then his heart restarted, going twice the normal pace. He could feel it in his temples, in his chest, in his dick. His hips thrust forward into Peter's. Peter leaned heavily against him, their bodies grinding together for a second.

Stiles eyes dropped close, the hand slipping off the door knob. He was being tugged away from the door a second later. Stiles followed blindly, allowing himself to be pulled, just as he had allowed himself to be guided. They bumped into the lockers, parting just long enough for Peter to drag Stiles' jacket over his arms and drop it to the floor.

Peter's coat joined Stiles' on the floor they rounded the lockers. Peter's hands were toasty as they crept under his shirt, touching bare skin. Stiles leaned into the touch as the hands skated up, drawing the material with it. He lifted his arms, allowing the shirts to be yanked over his head and discarded.

Peter's fingers skirted his sternum, but grazed nipples on the way back down. Peter rubbed his hands over his sides and down his stomach. The touch set sparks alight beneath his skin, like a bottle rocket about to be let off. Stiles grabbed the collar of Peter's  shirt, tugging it off. It landed in a small heap on the concert.

Stiles' feet struck tile as the same time he got a good look at the half naked man in front of him. He wanted to lick every inch of Peter's torso, from the light dusting of hair below his belly, to his defined pecs. He wanted to suck on the star burst scar below his ribs. He returned Peter's touch with his own, watching goosebumps rise in the wake.

"Damn," Peter hissed.

Stiles snatched his hands away. He had been so caught up in marveling at being able to touch, at the heat and life beneath his fingers, he hadn't thought about it. His back hit the wall, the cold tile sending a shiver down his spine.

Peter rolled his eyes, hands creeping down to his thighs, then behind them. "I didn't say stop. Your hands are just cold."

"Well sorr- epp!" Stiles yelped as his legs pulled out from under him.

He threw his hands out in a panicked flail, even as he wrapped his legs tightly around Peter's waist. Peter's hands slid down to grope his ass. At the same time, Stiles hand struck something hard.

It gave way and a cascade of lukewarm water immediately dropped on their heads.

"What the fuck?" Stiles shouted in surprise.

"You turned on the water, dumb-ass," Peter snapped, glaring at him.

His hair went from dark to entirely black. It plastered to his head, making the water run in rivets down his nose and across his temples. Stiles followed it down his chest, watching the water glide over his abs and then disappear into the fabric of his jeans. Stiles blinked slowly, then looked back into his face. Peter watched him for a moment, probably thinking he looked like a drowning rat as his hair collapsed.

"Are we suppose to stop?" He managed, after he swallowed thickly.

"Rather not."

"Oh. Carry on," Stiles murmured over the drum of water on the tiles.

Everything after was a blur. Stiles reached between them, fingers finding their zippers. He worked them down as Peter found a spot on his collar bone, sucking a bruise into the fragile skin. His fingers kneaded Stiles' buttocks, only moving to help remove his belt. Stiles tossed two of them across the room, listening to the metal clatter across the floor.

Stiles gasped in relief when the pressure against his crotch lessened, the jeans gaping open. The water slipped down his back, making the material tight wherever it touched. He looked down between them, stared at his own clinging boxers, then at Peter's.

The cloth was nearly sheer, the red flush of his cock visible. He pushed against the damp confines, trapped inside. Stiles groaned, tipping his head back as he reached down, fingers finding the opening in Peter's boxers. He guided him out, fist closing over him.

Peter bit down, hard enough to draw a pained gasp. Stiles blinked his eyes open, his hand moving awkwardly between them. He stared at Peter, watching the pleasure come over his face, before he was shifting away slightly.

Stiles dropped one leg to the ground, keeping the other hooked behind Peter's  calf. Peter reached down, hands brushing. Peter found his hard dick and palmed it through the fabric.

Stiles sunk his teeth into his lip, eyes glazing over. His head thunked back against the shower wall, his whole world narrowing down to the cock in his hand and the feel of Peter pressing his palm against his crotch.

"I want to fuck you," Peter said, licking a stream of water from his chest. "I want to strip you of ever article of clothing, to keep you completely bare. I want to taste ever inch of you, to put my tongue and lips on every body part, every piece."

Peter didn't stop talking, just kept dragging his fingers down his length, keeping it trapped under his boxers.

"I want to come all over you and rub it into your skin, so that everyone will know you are mine, will keep their hands off of you. I want to keep you."

Stiles squirmed, arching up for more. He found himself babbling, begging to be touched, really touched. His body was tightening up, the warm in his stomach turning molten.

Peter finally gave in and pulled him out of his boxers. He stroked him as he thrust up into Stiles fist. Stiles was suddenly lividly aware of the Peter's other hand, creeping to the seam of his pants and pressing up, into the heat just behind his balls. Stiles came, an embarrassing whimper on his lips and stars behind his eyes.

It wasn't long before Peter sank his face into the hollow his throat. He grunted, then his come splattered across Stiles hand and onto his jeans.

Stiles slowly settled both feet on the ground. He let go of Peter's cock, his hand feeling empty without something it. He shook himself out of the daze, the afterglow being ruined by the water dripping down his face.

He was shocked they hadn't drowned before they had finished.

Peter inhaled once, his breath chilly on Stiles damp neck. Then he pulled away, dropping his hands. They stare at each for a long moment, measuring each other up. Stiles shifted first. He tucked himself away, then folded his arms over his chest.  
He felt exposed, like his bones were showing through his skin. He felt like a tasty snack for any animal looking for a treat.

One half of Peter's mouth quirked up. He reached out, tugging him out from under the stream of water. Stiles went with him, stepping away from the heat and the billowing steam. Peter leaned close, tongue darting out to lick a droplet from his chin.

"Never would have guessed that sex would shut you up."

"Oh, and I thought it would make you more pleasant."

Stiles slipped by, bending briefly to pick up his belt and shirts. He left Peter in the showers, going to find a clean towel. The water cut off behind him, Peter padding out after a few moments. He grabbed his shirt and jacket, pulling it on without drying off. His pants were dark with water, tight everywhere but his ankles. They were zipped, though Stiles had no idea how he had managed it.

Stiles ducked behind his locker. He grabbed the somewhat clean jogging pants. He swapped them quickly, aware of Peter watching him. He pulled them up, the slipped his shirts back on. He felt better once they were on, a second coat of army. He took his phone and keys put of his pocket, both damp but undamaged.

He didn't understand the battle, but he knew he was fighting one. He tried to fortify himself for whatever would come next. He went and grabbed his backpack, Peter a step behind him.

"Are you just going to-" Stiles stopped, turning to face him. He was trying to pick a fight. Why was he trying to pick a fight?

The bell startled to ring.

"Is this a one time thing?" He demanded.

"What do you want it to be?" Peter asked.

"Not cryptic. Not a love 'em and leave 'em thing. I don't fucking know."

Peter grabbed his chin, looking into his eyes. "It's not a one time thing, if you don't want it to be."

Stiles tried to deny the relief he felt. "Good. Cause, I don't put out for just anyone."

"You haven't put out for anyone else."

"How the hell do you know that? I could be the town bicycle."

"You smell like a virgin."

The door opened at the same time Stiles asked, "what does virginity  smell like, exactly?"

Stiles froze for just a second before turning to face the person.

"Oh, sorry. My bad," Jeff apologized. He threw his hands up in surrender. He retreated quickly, the last thing out the tips of his yellow shoes.

It hit Stiles like a car. He started after him, skidded, snatched up his backpack, then was out the door.

He chased after the boy with squeaky, yellow shoes, leaving Peter in the locker room, frowning in confusion.


	7. Chapter 7

Lydia glanced up when Stiles got up from the table. She was picking at her food, trying to summon the urge to eat the slop. Her appetite wasn't any more forthcoming than the reason for Stiles departure.

Time passed in a slow draw. Her ears felt sensitive, as if she were coming down with an ear infection. She had a prolonged sense of vertigo, as if she was within a shook up snow globe. It was the sense of being turned upside down, but the whole world moving with her, a swish of air and the roar of water were all she heard.

She looked up when a boy with curly hair sat down in Stiles' spot. His movements were smooth with confidence, graceful in a animal way. She gave him a diffident look. He returned it with a challenge in his eyes.

He turned his head and addressed Scott and Allison. "Can I talk to you two?"

Scott and Allison exchanged confused looks. They communicated in a series of facial ticks, shift of shoulders, and twitch of fingers. They nodded to each other.

"Sure, Isaac. What's up?" Scott asked, turning to face him fully.

Isaac wavered in his resolve for a moment. He titled his head, his eyes going back to his table. Lydia watched him as steeled himself. He made a minute nod.

"Can we talk about this somewhere else?"

Jackson chose then to join the conversation. Lydia rubbed the bridge of her nose, hiding the sharp frown. Jackson was having one of his bad days. He was lucky she loved him like burning.

"Got something to get off your chest, Lahey? Something," Jackson drew out the next word, "personal?"

"Jackson," Danny warned.

"Don't be an asshole," Allison snapped. She smiled at Isaac. "Of course, Isaac."

"No, I think you should say it here. We won't judge, if that's what you're afraid of," Jackson taunted.

Isaac blinked and for a split second Lydia thought...

It was a trick of light, just like that morning. Lydia stood up from the table, causing an abrupt stop in conversation. Jackson caught her wrist in a loose grip, eyes questioning.

She gave most of them a chilly glare. "Since I'd rather not spend my day babysitting a bunch of toddlers, I think I'll go home."

"You feeling okay?" Allison asked.

Only she and Danny had been spared the look.

"Just a headache," she reassured her. She closed her eyes in a flinch as the bell rang. "Nothing some Aspirin won't fix."

The noise in the cafeteria jumped from Kindergarten nap time, to winning Lacrosse game. Lydia picked up her bag, gave Jackson a quick parting kiss, and followed the flow of students out into the halls. Allison, Scott, and Isaac went to the right, while Jackson and Danny went straight.

Lydia went left to the parking lot.

-

"Dude!" Stiles called, running after Jeff.

The halls were flooded with people and Jeff, tall as he may have been, was disappearing into the crowd. Stiles ducked around funny faced, on looking students. He jumped up and down, trying to spot him.

"Jeff! Jeff, buddy, I need to talk to you!" He shouted.

Stiles drove through the students, weaving between the ones going in the opposite direction and cutting between the ones going his way. Every few seconds he spotted Jeff's shoes through the mesh of moving bodies, but the intervals were getting longer and longer.

His voice was too low to be heard over the crash of closing lockers and the stomp of feet. Giddy students shouted to be heard, joyful to see friends or catch a glimpse of freedom from class. The halls smelled of clashing perfumes and colognes, the weight stuffing up the nostrils. Stiles felt a frantic tingle work its way into his hands and feet.

He pushed a little harder than he should, sending a girl tripping into another person. Her angry shout was swept away. He felt like he was narrowing down, like he was being whittled away by a building pressure behind his eyes. His peripherals blurred. The fog expanded as he raced along.

He hit the stairs by the front doors. He pounded down them, unable to tear his eyes away from the slowing shutting door. It was heavy and slow, weighted to prevent slamming. He slipped between the door and the frame, panting as he stopped on the steps. He darted his gaze across the parking lot, searching with a rapidly peaking apprehension.

A car turned over, the engine giving a vague rattle. He spotted it near the end of the parking lot, close to the road. The old Honda backed up and pulled out in a squeal of belts and grind of gears.

"Shit!" Stiles shouted.

How was he going to catch him? He couldn't take his Jeep, he'd be pulled over within minutes. Fuck, he could feel it coming. It towered over him, over the town, like a skyscraper over a street. The wind was sharp and bitter sweet. It reminded him of rotting meat.

"Stiles?"

He whirled around. Lydia was scrutinizing him. He felt like an easy math problem, one she had figured out at first glance. It didn't matter that all his secrets were letters, she already knew what was on the other side of the equal sign. He fumbled for an explanation, then his eyes dropped to her hand.

She held her keys by the ring, a key chain and three keys swinging lightly.

He lunged towards her, grabbing her arm. He started dragging her down the steps, tripping down them in his haste. She let out an indignant protest, keeping her feet under her with a lifetime of practice.

"What are you doing?" She demanded, struggling to take her arm back.

"No time to explain. We have to hurry." Stiles urged.

They hit the sidewalk and he propelled her towards her silver Prius. Her heels made a god awful sound as they scratched the sidewalk, then scrapped over the tarmac. She put a halt to their progress when they reached the front bumper of her car, their momentum coming to an abrupt stop that almost sent Stiles to the ground. She snatched her arm away.

"I'm not doing anything unless you tell me why." She snapped, her voice verging on a snarl.

Stiles gritted his teeth, trying not to scream. "If I don't find him, he's going to die."

"What?"

"Lydia, please!" He shouted.

A series of lightning quick thoughts passed across her face, emotions flickering just as quick. He was reminded of the fact that before Allison had come, before his best friend has become part of an epic romance, and before he had become second hand popular, he had been in love with Lydia Martin. He still loved her, but now it was as a person instead of an idea. He loved her as a friend, and damn if he wasn't proud to be able to call her that.

"Get in the car," she commanded.

He scurried to the passenger door and clambered inside. She slid behind the wheel, the key turning as she closed the door. They buckled up as they left the parking lot behind.

-

Allison, Isaac, and Scott ducked into an empty class room. Scott was a little antsy. He needed to get to practice and find Stiles. Time had proven that a solo Stiles was an endangered Stiles. At least if Scott was with him, they could be sent to the Emergency Room together.

With a monster in Beacon Hills, the ER might be the lucky outcome.

"So, Isaac, what was it you wanted to ask us?" Allison shut the door behind them.

She took the place next to Scott, standing side by side. Her arm rested against his, a gentle reminded that they stood together. She softened her stance and Scott followed suit. Despite all the good his adoption by the Hales had done Isaac, some damage could not be undone.

Isaac looked plagued by self doubt. He settled on a false, cocky smile.

"Do you two want to go see a movie with me?"

That got Scott's full attention. Allison, whose attention hadn't wandered, looked shell shocked. Scott and Allison once again had a silent discussion.

Allison started after they had finished. "Are you asking us on a date?"

"That depends mostly in your answer."

They had not discussed this. In fact, they had never jokingly mention the possibility. Scott was freaking out, because if he answered yes, he might lose Allison. If he answered no, and she said yes, he could still lose her.

"Uh," Scott replied eloquently.

"Could you," Allison had to clear her throat. "Could you give us a chance to talk it over?"

Isaac looked both relieved and disappointed.

Scott was thinking along the lines of, _does that means she wants to? Or does she think I want to? Is she worried that I might be thinking the thing I'm worried she's thinking?_

"Sure, that's fine." Isaac assured.

Scott opened his mouth, not even sure what he was going to say. His phone rang, stopping him anyway. He checked it and stepped away a few feet; regardless, they could both hear loud and clear.

"Scott," Stiles shouted over the phone. His voice was tiny but loud.

"Stiles? Where are you? What's going on?" Scott asked, sounding stressed.

"I need you and Allison to get in your car and head West."

"Why?"

"I know who's next, okay? I don't know when or why, but he's next and we have to stop it. I'm with Lydia and we're trying to follow him."

"Why are you with Lydia?"

"Not important right now." Stiles hissed.

"Right. We're on our way." He promised.

"Lydia, left. Left! Call you back," Stiles hung up.

Scott headed for the door. Allison caught his hand and looked back at Isaac. Allison froze for a just second before she followed.

She had seen the light come on in Isaac's.

He knew. He knew something about the monster, about the deaths. Someone had told him, or he had figured it out on his own. But somehow, someway, he was aware of the thing hunting people in Beacon Hills. They were not alone in their knowledge.

It was almost as terrifying as the monster itself.

-

They almost made the light. Lydia threw her arm out, stopping Stiles from bashing head first into the dashboard as she slammed on the breaks. They skidded, the breaks squealing as they came to a stop just before the white line. The Honda passed out of sight as an eighteen wheeler drove in front of them, hauling a stack of timber.

"Thanks," Stiles said, sitting back.

Lydia didn't say anything. The light turned green and they drove under it. The road in front of them was devoid of Hondas. They went slowly, looking down every street they passed. They couldn't see it, not even a glimpse.

"Where did he go? Shit, do you see him?" Stiles asked.

Lydia clenched the wheel, Stiles' agitation and fear catching. She didn't know why she believed him. He hadn't given her much to go on. But she knew, right to the bottom of her heart, that this was dire. They needed to find that boy and they needed to do it soon.

She felt like she was inside an hourglass, the sand pouring down on top of her. The sound of sand against sand was like waves across a beach, the wind across a desert. It howled in her ears, growing louder.

"There! To the right." Stiles stabbed his finger at his window. He quickly texted Scott the street.

Lydia spun the wheel, sending the car skipping over a pothole. Both of their heads connected with the roof. They dropped back into their seats, the little Honda crossing their path. Lydia cut in front of another car. The business man blared his horn, a few inches shy of clipping them in the side.

The Honda's blinker came on. Lydia tapped the breaks, turning her blinker on for the first time. They coasted into the parking lot next to a grocery store. It was almost empty with only the employees' cars and a bus waiting by the door. Jeff parked in the center row.

Lydia pulled into an empty spot three away from Jeff's. Stiles opened the door before she shifted into park and was out of the car before she turned it off.

Jeff looked startled as he stepped out of his car. He had an apron on, with the store's logo on it. He leaned against his car door for a moment, emotions fleeting across his face. He slammed the door and stepped forward, taking on a defensive pose.

"We need to talk," Stiles said.

"Dude, what you do in the locker room is your own business," Jeff gave him a weirded out look.

"You're in danger."

"Whoa," Jeff held up his hands. "There's no need for threats, little buddy. It's okay, man. Danny Mahealani, you know the Lacrosse player? He's gay too."

"Not from me. The monster-"

The darkness crashed over them, a punch in the chest. It was like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head. Stiles' pupils expanded, though he didn't know it. His sight tunneled and adrenaline saturated his blood. He jerked his head up, searching.

He didn't see where it came from. Maybe it came from the shadows cast by the cars. He didn't know. One moment they were alone in the lot, then it was clipping him in the shoulder, sending him slamming into the car.

Jeff's scream cut off as claws sunk into his chest, the creature bearing them to the ground in a twist of limbs. Jeff's skull hit the pavement with a crack. He uttered a single whimper. Then there was a wet tearing of flesh. His blood pooled on the ground. His ribs snapped.

Stiles lurched back, eyes wide as he hurried to distance himself. He couldn't turn his back and run, no matter how afraid he was, no matter how much he already knew that Jeff was dead. He was locked inside his head, the terror taking hold.

The was a pause in the slick sounds, then a soft rip, the final rending of meat. The monster shifted and Stiles could see everything. He swallowed convulsively, the bile filling his mouth. His throat burned and he grabbed his mouth, his back coming up against the Prius. He tried to breathe, tried to keep from vomiting as he watched the creature dip its hands into Jeff's chest and give a tug.

It cradled the pink and purple organ between dripping palms. The expression on its face could only be described as reverent and ravenous.

Lydia screamed.

 -

The wail rippled out across the air like a warning siren. Across the small city, people who were a little less than human clapped their hands over the ears. It was piercing in its volume, shattering in pitch. Few of them knew what it meant, and those that did, knew it meant nothing good.

Regardless, those who could, rushed for its source.

-

Stiles and Lydia dove back into the car as the monster got to its feet. Stiles locked the door as Lydia shakily tried to crank the car. It finally came to life and she threw it into reverse. The monster jumped forward as the car jerked, tires turning quickly.

It missed by a foot, claws outstretched. They dragged across the hood, a shrill cry of paint and metal being torn away rising over the whine of the tires. Then they were out of its reach and Lydia turned the wheel. The car swung in an arc, putting the store at its back.

They shot out of the parking lot at the same time shoppers stepped out to investigate the noise. They left behind frantic shouts and a series of calls to 911. They didn't see the creature slip away. 

-

Talia left her SUV on the side of the road. She sprinted between stores, taking a shortcut across people's yards. She crossed town in half the time it would have taken in her vehicle. She caught the scent of blood almost immediately, then the sharp stench of fear. There was a distinct lack of dried leaves that made her certain it had covered its scent.

She was the first on the scene, her speed dropping to a trot as she hit the edge of the cracked parking lot. It was a bleached gray, with a swatch of scarlet in the middle. Several elderly people huddled together by the store's front door. She could hear a woman hyperventilating, another man's heart thumping out of rhythm. People smelling of meat and produce stood next to them, ears pressed to phones, their faces pale and limbs shaky.

She stopped at a safe distance, appearing as if she had heard the commotion from across the street and had come to check. She stared at the poor boy, not even her eldest child's age. Her heart ached in pity and guilt, her own scent turning bitter with regret. Beacon Hills was hers to protect, and yet people were dying. She was a calm woman, but rage was building inside her.

The threat to her pack, to her territory and all those who made their home within, was not something she took lightly. It burned in her stomach, a roiling anger that fed on rationality. She gritted her teeth and reigned back in her control. She banked the anger.

"Talia."

She was unsurprised by Peter's sudden presence at her side. The familiarity of pack was soothing. She brushed against him, letting his sour scent-

"Did you have sex?" She wrinkled her nose and leaning away.

He rolled his eyes. "I'll give you a play by play, if you desire, but don't we have more pressing matters?"

"You couldn't keep it in your pants, could you?" She sighed. "We'll wait for the police. Then we will go to Deaton's."

Peter frowned and inhaled deeply. She looked at him, seeing confusion for a second. His face went carefully blank.

"What?"

"Nothing."

She let him get away with it. She didn't have it in her to fight with him. Talia stared at the body. They stayed until the police arrived. She heard the Sheriff's soft voice clear across the lot.

"Jesus, not another one."

She shared the sentiment.

-

"Pull over," Stiles asked. The screen on his phone was blurry, the message having been sent.

The crash from the adrenaline was hitting him hard, driving him straight into the ground. His hands trembled and he was still nauseous. Lydia didn't look much better, even though she pulled off terrified with some dignity. He was a cheap startle away from becoming a blithering fool.

Lydia followed his directions. Lydia stopped the car and ran both hands through her hair, composing herself in leaps and bounds. Stiles just tried to keep himself still, hoping he wouldn't shake apart. His phone beeped, a message from Scott appearing.

"'Meet us at Allison's house,'" Stiles read aloud. "I guess we're going there. Maybe she'll have snacks."

Lydia looked at him from under one arm, hands still firmly planted in her hair. Her incredulous expression quickly turned livid.

"What," she asked, her voice dark, "was that?"

"A lifetime of nightmares?" Stiles joked.

She didn't find it funny.

"I'll explain everything," he promised. "Just get us to Allison's house."

"I'll hold you to it, Stiles," she swore. 

He knew she would. He just needed to figure out how he would explain to her that monsters were real, that he was apparently psychic, and she was... She was dangerously close to forming a pattern.


	8. Chapter 8

Allison and Scott were waiting on the front porch. They ran to them as they got out of the car, their faces twisted with worry. Stiles gave them a lackluster smile, his legs feeling like pool noodles.. Scott wrapped him in a bear hug. He squeezed until Stiles couldn't breathe. It helped keep him from shaking. He felt hungry and sick all at once.

 Scott asked, "it happened again?"

Stiles returned his embrace, hanging off of him. It was easy to let Scott support him as Allison guided Lydia up the steps and into the house. Stiles nodded against his shoulder, unwinding his arm so that they could go in after the girls. He had to use the railing to get up the steps, his feet laden down and dragging.

"Lydia saw," he murmured. "We saw it kill Jeff."

"Jeff? School Jeff?"

"He's dead," Stiles confirmed.

Allison stepped into the foyer from the living room, face white and grim. She reached around them to shut the front door, then beckoned them to follow. They started to step into the kitchen, but Lydia spoke from the living room.

"I believe a full explanation is in order." She said with a threatening tone.

They went to sit in the living room, the three of them on the couch across from her. They didn't quiet settle on into their seats, but continued to shift and shuffle their feet. Stiles gave a sigh and sunk deep into the cushions, his eyes closing for a few second before he opened them.

"Okay," he said. He paused, raking his brain for a place to begin, so when he ended it he wouldn't sound so batshit insane. "Okay," he started again.

He hoped it was the last time he'd have to explain it.

-

John held up the tape, letting Sebastian duck underneath. A silent ambulance was beside his cruiser, which mostly blocked the entrance. The onlookers murmured, ignoring Kayleigh's questions for a moment. She snapped at them, and their attention went grudgingly back to her.

"Another one?" Sebastian asked. "Has Lee released the body?"

"He's finishing up, then we're sending the body to the morgue. Go ahead and get started."

"All right, Sheriff."

Sebastian walked away, eyes scanning the ground. He sat his kit beside one of the tire treads, a black strip against the gray asphalt. John wasn't sure if it had been there before, or if it was new. He had busted groups of teenagers doing donuts in the parking lot more than once.

He tucked his hands into his jacket and went to check on Lee. The man was on his knees, peering under the car. He was wearing gloves, one sneered in blood, the other holding a penlight. John crouched next to him.

"What are you looking for?"

"Well, his heart is most definitely gone. Must have lost it to someone," Lee said, his voice muffled.

John took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. He could get used to a lot of things. The blood, the violence, the senseless deaths. He could never get used to people's coping mechanisms. Some of them drank, some of them wept, some of them made jokes in bad taste.

"I'm looking one of his ribs. Seems whoever did this was in a hurry. Oh, there it is."

Lee reached under the car, carefully lifting a broken bone out into the light. It was thin and curved, meat still clinging to it. Lee placed it on a piece of plastic, along with a few others. He sat up, his hair sticking up on one side.

"That should do it. Seems everything else can be accounted for. Give me a few minutes and the scene is all yours."

Lee got to his feet with one hand on his knee, the other on the tarp. He left behind a bloody hand print. John eased himself up as well, his knees creaking. Lee waved over to two paramedics, who wheeled a stretcher towards them.

The wind was starting to pick up, carrying with it leaves that danced across his crime scene. Sebastian hovered over his work, glowering at the sky. The sky was such a clear blue it felt like an insult. He didn't know how to tell the victim's family that on a clear day, their son was brutally murdered.

"John," Kayleigh called, jogging over to him. Her hair bounced around her shoulders, pulled into a sloppy ponytail. Her bangs were coming down in frazzled pieces, escaping the hold. She had run her hands through it in her frustration.

"What do you have?"

"Witnesses saw a silver Prius fleeing the scene. I've requested surveillance footage. Mr. Donniman is getting it right now."

"When he gets it, take it to the station and see if you can get a license plate. Whoever was driving that car is either our murderer or a key witness."

Kayleigh nodded, then returned to the store. Sebastian called him over, his voice edgy with excitement. He held a pair of long, gray tweezers in his hand, something pinched at the end. His camera dangled around his neck, the cap off and light on.

"I'm pretty sure I just found part of our murder weapon," Sebastian pitched his voice low. The wind carried it only so far before it disappeared entirely.

John peered at it. "What is it?"

"It looks like a claw." Sebastian said. "It has some blood on it and something shiny."

"A claw?"

"We won't know until we have it analyzed. It could be metal made to look like a claw, or it could be from an animal. This is good right? Either way, we'll have something to go on."

John felt a little something ease. "Something like that always leaves a trail." He agreed.

-

Chris was getting out of his car at the clinic when Peter and Talia arrived. He followed them inside. As he pocketed his keys, his gun showing for just a moment on his hip. Deaton came to the door, holding it open for them and ushering them into the examination room.

He took to the other side of the table, where a thin book lay. It smelled odd and like death. It was bound in flesh, possibly human, the pages old and ragged around the edges. It had heavy wards placed over it, the type that made Peter and Talia's bones ache to be near.

"You said you had something." Chris put his hands on the table. He didn't feel a repulsion from the book. It didn't push against him like a magnet.

"Yes," he stopped to look at them, a frown marring his face. "Did something happen?"

"Another attack." Talia replied curtly.

 Chris and Deaton both asked, "When?"

"Less than an hour ago." Peter noted. "We hear a Banshee scream and found the body."

"A Banshee? In Beacon Hills?" Chris questioned bewildered.

"It's speeding up." Deaton murmured. "I was hoping I was wrong."

"Speeding up?" Talia caught and clarified.

"It is nearing the end of the cycle, so the deaths will get be getting closer together."

Talia stuffed her hands into her coat, rubbing warmth back into them. Peter folded his arms at her side, eyeing Deaton. He was assessing him, calculating his every move. Deaton was a predator in his own right, the spider who spun webs and waited for a fool to get caught inside.

Perhaps Peter was being too leery of their ally, but he wasn't one to be fed scraps of information and believe it a feast.

"It has a cycle?" Chris demanded.

"It's not a what but a who." Deaton corrected.

Chris paused, thrown off. "We're hunting something that was human?"

"He still is human, at least a majority of the time."

"It doesn't look human," Peter countered.

"You've only seen his shadow. It is the part of him that harvests hearts so that he can devour them later on."

"He's eating them?" Talia said in disgust.

"Is this a type wendigo?" Chris asked.

"No. He is a much older kind of creature, though that isn't the most appropriate word. He is still a man, just... less."

"What purpose does cannibalizing his victims serve?" Talia had a bad taste in her mouth.

"As I was saying, he kills in cycles, every seven years or so. The book doesn't say much, as this is a very old and very rare creature. It does say that he devours the hearts of his victims to prolong his own life."

Deaton opened the book, flipping to a marked page. The words were jumbled to Talia and Peter's eyes, a foreign language to Chris'. The book didn't want to be read by them. Deaton skimmed the page.

"It makes mention of how he often chooses his victims based on strength of spirit. He marks his intended-"

Talia felt the jolt go through Peter. She twisted her head, watching as his eyes dimmed rapidly. His scent was off, a strange note curling through it. He loosened his stance, eyes fading back to a human blue.

"Are these marks physical?" Peter questioned intently.

"I suppose they could be. It makes no mention one way or the other."

Talia turned to look at Chris when he spoke.

"How do we kill it?"

"You have to do it when it's one being. It is possible to kill one half, but I do not advise it."

"So we have to find a human."

"Yes. The sheriff may have a lead. When I find out, you find out. Until then, you must keep it from killing. If it finishes its cycle, it will disappear."

Deaton's words were followed by stirring wind. The back door clicked close behind Peter.

-

John was quickly forcing down a veggie wrap on his way back to the station. It was closer to an early dinner than a late lunch. It tasted bitter and with every bite he had to gulp down a coke. He was following a tow truck with the Honda on the back. It was being towed to the impound, as Sebastian had already looked through it. He had found a wallet with the boy's name in it.

Jeff Moore, eighteen.

John could hardly stomach it. The boy was Stiles' age, probably even went to his school. His car had been full of letters from art design colleges. One of his notebooks was dedicated to fantasy drawing, dark creatures and surreal landscapes. He had a bright future in front of him, but it was snatched away.

His phone started to ring. Throwing the half finished wrap into the seat next to him, he fished his cell phone out of his pocket.

"Stilinski," he answered.

"Sheriff, it's Kayleigh. I finished watching the tape and was able to recover a license plate number. I'm running it right now."

"That's good. Really good. Did you get footage of the attack?"

"Sorry," she sounded like she was grimacing. "It was out of frame."

"It's fine, we have something to go on." His phone beeped next to his ear. "I have another call. Keep me updated.

John answered the second call while pressing the breaks. The tow truck stopped at a red light in front of him. He could  hear country music coming out of the open windows, drifting back to him. His own radio was silent, his deputies all busy. He missed Tara and Brenda's chatter, their verbal dance of gossip, business, and flirting.

"John, it's Parrish. Have you heard from Stiles or Scott?" He sounded like he was trying to instill calm into his voice, so as not to panic anyone.

John thought he needed to work on it. He felt the blood leave his face in a rush. His teeth ground together and his knuckles went white. He took a deep breath that whistled through his nose.

"They aren't at school?" His voice came out strained and dangerous.

"No, sir." Parrish said softly. "I went to the office and they weren't in attendance since lunch."

John noticed the tow truck driving off. He snapped back into himself and pressed down on the gas. He drove on autopilot, doing the math. Dread pooled in his gut, right next to certainty.

He grasped onto a vague hope.

"Is his jeep gone?"

"No, it's in the parking lot."

"Shit. I'll call back," he intoned. He clicked off and started to dial. He was about to press send when his phone went off. He answered when he saw the station's number.

"Kayleigh, tell me what you've got."

"The car is registered to one Lydia Martin, who lives on Washington-"

"Lydia? Son of a bitch, I should have known."

"John?" Kayleigh squeaked.

"Not you," he assured her. "You did great. I'll be at the station in a few minutes."

He managed to dial Stiles' number without interruption. He listened to it ring. He tried to think about what he was going to say. He couldn't think of anything that didn't involve his voice being raised and the promise of deserts.

-

Stiles clapped his hands and sat back. Lydia frowned down at the books, her mind processing their words quickly. Simple explanation had turned into two hours of multiple accounts, demonstrations, and information sharing. She pulled the book towards her, flipping through the pages.

"You expect go find answers here?"

"Yes." Stiles nodded.

"I think so," Allison told her. "We just have to find them."

"This sounds like bullshit," Lydia huffed. "This should be the plot of a B horror movie."

Lydia took a deep breath. Her chest rose sharply, stayed, then collapsed again. She blinked a few times and cracked her neck. She closed the book and looked at them.

"You said you finished this one. Bring me another."

They gaped at her.

"You're helping?" Scott asked.

"No, I'm getting a pedicure and ignoring that their is a monster in my town," she snapped. "Do you really expect me to bury my head?"

"I would if I could," Stiles muttered.

Allison got and and ran upstairs. She came back panting and with a thick volume with Latin script on the front. She dropped it on the table. The table groaned and dust flew from the pages. They all coughed as they got a lung full.

"You can read this, right?" She asked. "It doesn't have any pictures, so I've been putting it off."

Lydia dragged it towards her, wrestling with the weight. "If it's legible, I can translate it. Stiles, jolt me down a list of characteristics."

Stiles did as asked, grabbing a piece of notebook paper. He ripped it out and wrote down what he remembered. He stopped before handing it over, then carefully recreated the numbers and symbols he had seen on the others' chests. He left off his own.

"Do you know what language those are?"

Lydia looked at them closely and shrugged. "They look familiar. I'll have to check later when I get home." She tucked them into the book.

It was more than Stiles had gotten on his own. He stood up, stretching put the kinks in his shoulders. He needed coffee and sleep. He took out his phone, glancing at the time. He nearly dropped it.

"We're late!" Stiles shouted, turning on Scott. "It's half past three. Parrish is suppose to-"

The phone in his hand began to ring. He jumped, flinging it away from him with a yelp. It hit the couch and dropped to the ground. It shimmied across the carpet, the speakers crackling as a song poured out.

"Fuck. Fuck. What do we do?" Stiles shouted, staring at it.

They stared at the phone until Stiles finally picked it up. He looked at them, but they were just as uncertain ad he was. They did different versions of a shrug.

"You could press the green button and answer it." Lydia suggested dryly.

Stiles glared at her. They were up shit creak. The boat was leaking. The were going to drown. He answered the phone with crossed fingers.

"Hi," he drew out loudly. "We're running a bit late. Tell Parrish we'll be there in just a minute-"

"Gemini," John cut in.

Stiles swallowed, shrinking in on himself. If most people froze at hearing their middle name, he froze at hearing his first.

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Are you going to come to the station on your, or am I going to have to put out a APB on my own son?"

"I'll come on my own," he winced.

"Bring Lydia and Scott."

"Scott wasn't even there," he protested. "He was with Allison."

"Are they with you now?"

"Yeah," he admitted.

"We'll need their witness statements as well," John ran out of steam, the sharp anger turning blunt. He sounded resigned and that hurt more than his anger. "Don't make us look for you."

-

An officer was there to escort them into the station. Stiles ducked his head, refusing to meet Deputy Carl's eyes. Sebastian took Lydia's car keys, putting it in his pocket. They all knew it was moving evidence and would be impounded. Carl held the door and Tara looked up from her post at the desk.

"You okay, kiddo?" She asked.

He gave her a half smile. "Peachy."

She gave him a smile in return, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Scott? Ladies?"

They each replied with variations of, "fine".

"I'm sure your parents will be delighted to hear that."

Lydia demanded, "You called our parents?"

"Sorry, sweety."

"Stiles," John said tersely from behind the door way. "Come on. Carl, take them on back and get their statements."

"Did you call my dad?" Allison asked.

John nodded as Stiles slid past him. Allison folded in on herself. Scott squeezed her hand, giving her a reassuring smile. It wasn't the first time they had had to sneak around. They separated as Carl lead them into into the back.

Stiles headed for the office. John took his elbow, as if Stiles was going to dart out the back door. He thought about it, unwilling to face his father. He didn't want to lie again, but he was going to have to. The truth was worse.

Stiles shrugged out of his grip as they passed through the door. He thought things were going pretty well. There hadn't been any shouting-

John slammed his office door behind hthem. "Try to explain this to me." He said, going to lean against his desk.

Stiles looked anywhere but at him. He looked out the windows, at the brown grain of the desk, at his filing cabinets. He tried to bide time so he could answer in a way that didn't dig the hole any deeper.

"It depends on what you want me to explain." Stiles finally said.

"What were you doing there?"

"I-" Stiles swallowed. He felt something hot spring behind his eyes. He tried to blink it away. "I was trying to save him," he whispered.

He hadn't been able to. He had tried so hard, had been right there. If he had seen it coming just a second sooner, he might have been able to save Jeff. Jeff wouldn't be dead.

John's entire face went soft. The sheriff gave way to Stiles' father, the man who had picked him up out of the dirt, who had tucked him in, who sang along with the radio. John held out his arms and Stiles went to him.

He sank into the embrace, letting his father lift some of the burden off his shoulders. He gave into the illusion of security. He wasn't safe, his father wasn't safe, no one was. He knew how painfully mortal they both were, how easily it could abll end.

"Stiles, how did you know?" John asked against his hair.

"It... it made sense." He shook his head, pulling away. "I just had a hunch, I guess."

John lifted on edge of his mouth. It dropped a second later. "Can either of you identify him?"

Stiles shook his head again. "He was wearing a mask."

"It's okay, son. Just tell me everything that happened."

Stiles fought back a sigh. Of course he'd have to do it again.

-

Chris and Melissa arrived before Mrs. Martin. They arrived at the same time, swinging into parking spaces that were side by side. They looked at each other through their car windows. Melissa's eyes got wide; Chris' eyes got narrow.

"Ah shit," Melissa blurted out.

Chris raised his eyebrows.

John hadn't said much beyond her kid was alive and she needed to pick him up. She got out of her crappy car hastily. She almost clothes-lined herself on her seat belt. She mentally patted herself on the back, thinking,  _good job, Melissa. Elegant and classy, as always._

"You okay?" Chris asked as she jogged to the front door.

She brushed against the floral decorating the front. "Great. Did John tell you anything?"

"No."

They both looked up as they heard another car park in the lot. Melissa didn't know the woman, but she could take a guess as to which kid she belonged to. They waited for her as she juggled her purse and keys. She looked frayed. She obviously wasn't used to her child being at a police station.

"Mrs. Martin?" Chris hedged.

"Yes?" She asked, her head snapping up. She faltered for a second, half making it into flirt mode before pulling back. "You're Allison's father," she guessed, then looked at Melissa. It took her a moment longer. "Scott's?" She sounded unsure.

"Got it in one."

"Do you know what's going on?" Melissa asked.

"Not at all. Sheriff Stilinski assured me Lydia was okay. This isn't like her," she said to herself. "What could this be about."

"Let's find out," Chris decided.

-

Lydia signed her name with a flourish at the bottom of her statement. Allison and Scott signed each of their names to the own statement, swearing by them. None of them felt the slightest bit of guilt over the fact that sixty percent of their stories were lies. They had been separated and spoken to individually, but the car ride to the station had given them enough time to get a decent story together. It was sloppy in places, but it would withstand cursory examination.

"Done," Lydia declared, handing the pages over to Carl. Allison and Scott handed over theirs', different officer's names above their own.

"Thank you," Carl said. "You guys can head to the front lobby. Your parents are probably waiting."

Yeah, right. Lydia figured her mother was going mad. She wasn't far from the truth.

Lydia's mother was at the desk, leaning in to speak to Tara. She looked to be swearing avenging lawyers and all numbers of bad things. She wanted answers and wasn't getting the ones she wanted.

"Mom," Lydia broke into her tirade.

Her head shot up. "Lydia."

 Melissa and Chris' heads swiveled to them, a consuming rage in their eyes. Scott and Allison blanched. Whatever Tara had told them was enough for them to decide they were ready for the gallows.

"Scott."

"Allison."

"Mom."

"Dad."

"Stilinski," Stiles exclaimed.

"Stiles," John hushed.

Stiles dusted his hands. "That seems to cover it. Time for me to go, have a good day everyone."

He started to walk out. John grabbed the back of his shirt, reeling him back in line.

"No you don't." He looked around the crowded front room at the three parents and their teens.

"I really think I should. I mean look at the time. Nearly five? That's really late and it's a school night." Stiles tried again to no avail.

"Nope," John decided. "I think you're going to help me explain to Melissa, Chris, and Mrs. Martin why their children are here. And after, they will each be escorted home by a deputy."

"Can't we just mail them a memo?"

"No." John snapped.

"Fuck me."

-

Chris declined the offer of an escort, quoting his job selling firearms and his practice of testing them first. Melissa and Mrs. Martin both accepted. Stiles didn't have a choice. Scott and Allison glanced longingly at each other before being forced into separate cars.

Stiles watched the cars drive away, headlights turned on and sweeping across the highway. It glinted off the front window of the stores across the street, making them into mirrors. He ducked into the cruiser.

He didn't envy Scott and Allison over the next few weeks. He didn't much want to be himself either.

-

Stiles and John stopped to eat. They did so in silence, watching the cars go by. They went home much the same way.

Once inside the house, they parted ways. John went to his room to get ready for bed. He didn't plan on leaving unless there was an emergency or eight hours of sleep under his belt. Stiles piddled around downstairs until his father's light went off and he couldn't hear any more noises.

He trotted up to his room, planning on calling Scott. Maybe he'd actually pick up, though Stiles doubted Melissa had been kind enough to leave him his phone.

He felt the cold draft on the third step into his bedroom. He came up short, eyes glued on his open window. His breath came fast. He took a step back and hit something.

A hand clamped over his mouth before he could shout.

"Calm down, I just want to talk." Peter whispered against his ear

Stiles sent his elbow into Peter's gut. Peter gasped, letting go. Stiles spun around and put a few feet of distance between them.

"How the hell did you get in here?" Stiles hissed.

Peter shrugged. "Easy. Your window was cracked."

"And you took that as an invitation? What are you even doing here?" Stiles stopped to listen, making sure he hadn't woken his father.

"He's asleep," Peter assured, then stepped forward.

Peter's hands landed on his waist. Stiles glanced at him, surprised. He abruptly lost eye contact when Peter dragged Stiles' shirt over his head. He struggled before it slipped off, leaving him blinking and with his hair sticking up. The shirt disappeared into the darkness of his room.

"Hey, hey, hey," Stiles yelped. "What are you doing?"

Peter's hand landed on his chest, his touch a little too firm over the bruise. He hissed through his teeth as the pain flared up. It was starting to shift color. 

"What is this?"

Stiles grabbed his wrist. "That's why you broke into my house, you creeper? It's a fucking bruise."

"That's it?" Peter asked with a tilt of his head.

"That's it," Stiles snapped, but it sounded a lot like a lie. "Now if you have nothing better to do, how about you get the fuck-"

Peter slipped into his space, body molding to Stiles. He smiled as Stiles' breath hitched. Stiles was aware of every place they touched, of the heat rolling off of Peter's body. It was almost feverish. Stiles swayed into it, soaking it up. He had been cold half the day, like a hundred ice cubes were clinking around inside of him.

He wondered if the creature had the ability to rob a person of their body temperature.

"Sex?" Peter asked.

"Okay." Stiles agreed.

God, he was easy. Peter probably could have winked at him and he would have jumped at the chance. Peter's face lit up, the smile slow and sexy. Stiles felt a shiver snake down his body, straight to his cock.

Peter stepped back. Stiles teetered forward, catching himself from face planting. He hadn't realized Peter was the only thing keeping him upright. Stiles grabbed his shoulders, shuffling closer so he could regain his balance.

"Wha-"

"I want to see everything." Peter said, taking Stiles hands and guiding them to Stiles' waist. "Take them off."

Stiles opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. He kicked off his shoes and rolled his socks off, one at a time with his toes. He hesitated at his pants, then shoved them down. He kicked them free, sending them flopping across the carpet. He fingered the hem of his boxers, a flush rising high on his face.

Peter looked at him with dilated eyes. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he watched Stiles' fingers play with the fabric. Stiles sucked in a shaky breath, then discarded them, sending them the way of the dodo and his pants.

He kept his arms out his sides, feeling Peter's gaze seer against his skin. He reached out, his finger tips grazing skin. Stiles stifled a laugh, which turned into a moan as the pressure went from teasing to firm. Peter crowded up against him, hands moving over his skin, getting reacquainted with the dips and hollows, the moles and scars.

Peter's hands circled his waist, gliding across the smooth skin of his back, into the dip, then settled firmly on his ass. Peter squeezed, urging him close so that their crotches were flush together.

Their dicks were on board for whatever came next, throbbing in time to speedy pulses.

Stiles reached up, threading his fingers into Peter's hair. Stiles bent close, breathing into Peter's mouth.

"This seems awfully one sided," Stiles whispered. "You could fix that by getting naked."

Peter nodded, his nose dragging against Stiles'. He inhaled deeply, kissing the side of Stiles' mouth, above it, then below. He moved the other way when Stiles tried to fix the angle.

"I could," he supposed. "That would require letting go," he squeezed the mounds of flesh in his hands.

Stiles arched into the touch, eyes falling shut. He opened them again, shaking his head to clear it. He had a goal in mind, one Peter was distracting him from. He took Peter's hands off his ass, the air feeling cold after the hot touch. He moved away from Peter and towards the bed.

He stopped when his calf made contact. "Clothes," he rasped, his mouth suddenly dry.

Peter's gave him a lecherous smile. In a matter of moments, he was effectively striped, the last thing going were his socks. He did so more gracefully than Stiles had managed to do, making it look natural instead of like a cat stuck in a sweater. It wasn't fair that the Hales got good looks and unnaturally fluid movements.

"Better?" Peter questioned. He didn't sound like he actually needed an answer.

"En," Stiles shrugged. "I give it an nine for speed, an eight for talent, and a three for ingenuity."

"Ingenuity?"

"Oh, yeah. Disrobing using only teeth would have gotten you a ten-"

The bed squealed as they landed on it. They didn't bounce, but they didn't sink straight in. Stiles gasped, twisting his head to look at the doorway. The hallway was still in shadow, still empty. Peter licked up his throat, kissed the marks he had left earlier. He breathed the words into his ear, his warm breath gusting over the area.

"He's asleep and will remain that way if you stay quiet."

"How do you even know that?"

"The same way I know you still smell like me," Peter whispered against his skin.

"Smell-"

"Like my come too," Peter pushed up onto his hands, looking down at him.

Stiles looked up at him, at the way the moonlight came through the window in tiny dots and spots. It fell across Peter's naked skin, making gray contours and shadowy plains. Stiles reached up, touching, even as his mouth ran away from him.

"And does that cover up the smell of virginity?" He goaded.

"More than you'd expect," Peter murmured.

He grabbed both of Stiles hands and pulled them up, stretching them high above his head. He settled his weight atop Stiles, coming to rest between his legs. Stiles rolled his hips to readjust and stuttered, feeling the soft brush of another cock against his own.

Stiles shifted restlessly, legs rustling the sheets. He wiggled his fingers as Peter threaded his between. Stiles knuckles brushed the headboard, then stayed as Peter bore down. He tugged against the hold, testing it.

Peter hips arched into his own, their dicks sliding together, down each others lengths, and into the hollow of their hips. Stiles planted both feet on the bed, thrusting up to find more, seeking the warm between their bodies, the growing sickness of skin as they began to sweat. They started a steady pace, moving together. Time blurred and faded away.

Peter kissed him, stealing what little breath he had, tongue sweeping over his teeth, then caressing the roof of his mouth. They began to quicken, thrusting into the other, quick jerks and long slides. They shared air, breaking apart to gasp as the tension grew in their bellies. Stiles felt his orgasm well up, his balls tightening. His toes curled and he turned his head away, a moment away from coming when Peter's hands tightened in his own.

Peter's cheek was pressed against his, his mouth right next to Stiles' ear. He let out a low whine, the come splashing on Stiles' stomach, wet and warn.

Stiles bit his lip and came with a muffled cry.

-

Stiles blinked a few times, leaving his light doze when he felt Peter shift. He opened them to narrow slits. They opened wide when Peter slithered down, tongue against his chest and working down towards his stomach, his fingers trailing behind.

"What-" Stiles sat half upright, then dropped back down, covering his face.

Oh god. He couldn't watch as Peter licked their combined come from his skin, tongue flat as he drew it up and over the quivering flesh. It made him want to go again, but the day was latching onto him and seeping the energy from his bones.

"That's not fair," he bemoaned. "You can't just do that kinda shit. Not when I'm too tired to do anything."

Peter laughed at him, the asshole. It was a husky sound, one that faded away as he  rolled off of Stiles. Stiles peeked, realizing that he wasn't getting off the bed, but settling in. He raised his eyebrows in a poor imitation.

"You're staying?" He didn't mean to sound hopeful.

"Yep," Peter sighed, one arm wrapping around Stiles' stomach and a leg across Stiles'. His head dropped down next to Stiles'.

Stiles turned to look at him, going cross eyed at the closeness. There was a shine to Peter's eyes that made him rear back. It was gone the second he could see straight. He rubbed his eyes, then wiggled down a few inches and half on his side. He was already being lured back to sleep when he remembered he had something to say.

"Whatever," he yawned. "If you get caught, it's your own dam fault."

"I think I'll survive."

"Say that to my dad's gun." Stiles slipped off between one syllable and the next.


	9. Chapter 9

Isaac hovered in the doorway, shifting uncertainly. His book bag hung off his shoulder, the scent of the high school lingering on his skin. Talia was pleased he had actually stayed the full day. She paused, her arms sunk into an autumn orange sweater. Deaton's words repeated in her head, blending with her patrol plans. 

"Hi, Isaac. How was school?"

Isaac shrugged and stepped further info the room. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his posture turning defensive. Talia finished pulling the sweater over her head, then turned to face him directly. She relaxed her body, opening her arms and tucking her thumbs in. She made herself small and nonthreatening.

"Fine," he answered, coming forward to place his hands on the back of the chair. He leaned his weight on it, using the chair as a shield.

"Did something happen?"

"What was that scream? The one that happened earlier?"

"It was a Banshee. A third person was killed."

Isaac went ridged. His fingers sank deep into the cushions. The wood groaned under the pressure.

"Isaac?"

"Right before the scream Stiles called Scott and Allison."

"Did you hear what he said?" Talia asked. She had a notion of what he was going to say.

"Stiles said someone else was about to die."

Talia might have been expecting it, but it still threw her off. She rubbed her fingers against the sleeve and thought. She needed to call Chris. He needed to know about Allison. Isaac rocked on the heels of his feet.

"Thank you for telling me, Isaac." She smiled encouragingly.

Isaac relaxed. "Are we about to go on patrol?"

"Yes. Just give me a minute to make a phone call. Go get something to eat."

She turned her back on Isaac, going for her cellphone. She scrolled through her contacts and waited, one foot tapping out a beat. Scott and Stiles both knew, she was certain. But Allison was suddenly involved... Talia shook her head. It felt like control was slipping through her hands.

"Argent," Chris answered.

"Chris, Talia."

"Sorry. I really can't talk right now. I'm on my way to the police station."

"Why?"

"Something about Allison. They wouldn't tell me anything else."

"Chris, she might know something about the creature." The resounding silence from his end made her double check her phone. She pressed it back to her ear. "Chris?"

"I'll talk to her," Chris said. "I need to go."

"Of course," Talia let him hang up.

Talia took a moment to collect herself. She tried to remember if she was as prone to trouble in her teenage years, but she kept thinking about the 'born werewolf' part. It was hard to escape from trouble when your very existence called it. The fact that she had lived in Beacon Hills her whole life just added to it. 

It must be something in the water.

-

The ride home from the police station was tense and boiling with anger. Allison turned the radio on and her father turned it right back off. It reminded Allison painfully of her mother, who was passive aggressive a quarter of the time. Allison didn't know what to think of the rest of the time. Allison wasn't even sure she knew her mother at all.

Chris parked in the garage, shutting the door with a click of a button. Allison reached for the door handle, but the lock snapped into place.

"Dad," Allison started to protest.

"I thought we had a deal, Allison. You promised you would stay a from them."

"I said I would try," she interjected.

Chris didn't pause, nor did he hear her. "Not even two days later, I find out that not only did you disobey me, but you got arrest too."

"Pulled in for questioning, not arrested."

"I want you to go upstairs and pack a bag."

"What?" Allison gaped at him. The anger building up inside her was reaching a place she hadn't know existed.

"You're going to go stay with your aunt for a while."

"No," Allison's voice rose.

"Yes, you are!" Chris blew up in return. "If you are unwilling to listen to my-"

"I do listen," Allison was full on shouting. "In fact, I hear more than you think I do. Where do go in the middle of the night? Why do you take guns?"

Chris stared at his baby for a minute, seconds ticking away. Talia had said she knew something, but she couldn't possibly know about him, about their family.

"Are you trying to think of another lie?" Allison demanded when Chris didn't immediately respond. Allison had succeeded in flooring him.

"I've never lied to you," Chris said. He just never told her the whole truth.

"Yeah, right," Allison snarled and hit the lock. She flung open the car door and stomped into the house, leaving the door hanging open behind her.

Chris followed, slamming both doors. Chris was a hunter, and could handle a lot of things with a level head. Despite that he wasn't impervious to the peaks of sarcasm and spite a teenager could achieve. It made him grit his teeth and clench his toes, the heat inside coasting through the rest of his body in waves.

"Allison-"

"You said you never lied to me," Allison snapped, stepping back into the kitchen, a book held tightly in her hands. She threw it on the counter between them, the book skidding and sliding until it rested closer to Chris than her. "What the hell do you call this?"

Chris felt his stomach drop. He laid his hand on the book and didn't dare look up. "Where did you get that?"

"Did you think I wouldn't remember my childhood? That I wasn't capable of filling in the blanks? What is it that you even do?"

"Allison," Chris cut in and this time Allison stopped. "Where did you get this?"

He hadn't seen the book in three years. He had assumed it was lost in one of the moves, left behind somewhere. It hadn't been, though. It had been in his daughter's possession. It was a hunter's guide to the basics, masquerading as a book of fairy tales. How had she gotten a hold of it?

"Mom gave it to me."

Oh. Chris leaned against the counter, letting it take his weight. He should have known. Victoria, in the end, always did things her own way. Even with the book, Allison would know only a little. She would have all the knowledge to get herself in trouble, but none of the skills to get herself out. He needed to explain the rest, tell her everything, ask her to tell him in return. But he needed time.

"Okay," he said.

"Okay?" She asked, word sharp.

"I'll explain everything. Just not tonight. Give me until tomorrow "

"To come up with more lies?"

"To come up with proof. And after, you'll tell me everything you know about the creature killing people."

"You-" her eyes went wide and startled.

"Tomorrow," he said firmly.

"Tomorrow," she repeated. "After school?"

"You're not going to school."

"Well, can I at least go see Lydia? She's kinda freaked out about everything."

Chris didn't have it in him to deny her. "She can come over."

"That's not- Thanks."

-

Peter waited until Stiles' breath was even and his heart rate slow. When he was sure Stiles was sleeping deeply, he eased away, untangling himself. Stiles had hooked his foot over Peter's ankle and snuggled in. He muttered in his sleep when Peter took his warmth with him.

He searched the room quickly, finding his pants. He took his phone over the window, keeping the light blocked as he dialed up Talia's number. She answered after two rings. Her voice was nearly silent through the speakers, like a mouse, but Peter could hear her loud and clear.

"Peter?"

"Talia." Peter spoke quietly. "He's marked."

Talia didn't speak for a long moment. He could hear the soft crunch of leaves and the breeze whistling by her. She was in the preserve, continuing a vain search. She was mulling over his words.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course." 

"What does it look like?"

"A six turned ninety degrees."

"I'll ask Deaton about it tomorrow."

"Good."

"Peter," she stopped him before he could hang up. "He knew about the boy, from earlier."

"I know." Peter said. He had been able to smell his scent in the parking lot. Faint, fading, but there all the same.

"You need to ask yourself how."

"I plan on asking him. He'll be able to answer better than I can."

"Smartass," Talia sounded fond and annoyed.

"Well, someone has to be." Peter replied. He ended the call and crept back to bed.

Stiles rolled over, squinting at him as he slipped back into bed. Peter curled around him, pulling him back against him. Stiles went willingly, sleep making his eyes heavy and his body pliant.

"What were you doing?" He murmured, wiggling down so that he was nestled in the warm curve of Peter's body. His voice was sleep rough and slow. The syllables were so far apart they were hardly words. Stiles' eyes kept falling close.

"Taking a piss," Peter said, rubbing his chin against Stiles' nest of hair.

Stiles hummed. "Okay." He drifted back off shortly after.

Peter stayed awake, trailing his fingers up and down Stiles' back. He rubbed his face against Stiles' head, spreading his scent. Stiles already smelled so much like him, but it wasn't enough. He still stank of fear and exhaustion. Even in his sleep, it remained.

Peter wanted to get rid of it. He wanted Stiles to smell like him, wanted to make their scents mingle. He wanted Stiles to smell sweet with contentment, not bitter and sour like tart lemons.

Peter shifted his grip, pulling him tight. He let himself follow Stiles into dreamland.

-

Not ten minutes after Peter called, Chris called. Talia asked after Allison first thing.

"I'm going to tell her," Chris' voice was rough from whiskey. He hadn't drank enough for it to make any difference, but the burn helped ward away the numbness. Allison was demanding he ruin her life. He needed something to soothe the guilt.

"What changed your mind?"

"Victoria," Chris didn't elaborate further. He shifted and sighed. "Would you help me show her?"

Talia missed a step. "Of course, if that is what you want."

"It's not," Chris laughed without humor. "But I have to."

"Let me know the time and I'll come over."

"Thanks."

Talia tried to help. She could hear the pain in his voice, the grief. "They have grow up sometime, Chris."

"I didn't mind her growing up, as long as it wasn't into this."

"There are worse things she could have become."

"Like what?"

"Her grandfather."

-

"Stiles, I have to go."

Stiles blinked, stretched, and sat up. Peter was sleep rumpled. He was dressed, but he still had a soft from sleep. He looked approachable and far sexier than he had any right to.

"What time is it?"

"Six. Your dad is in the shower."

"You going out the window?"

"No, I thought I might have coffee with your dad then stroll out the front door," Peter rolled his eyes. Apparently he wasn't affected by the early hour.

"Have fun with that." Stiles laid back down onto the bed. He closed his eyes, then opened one. "You gonna kiss me goodbye or we doing the awkward morning after thing?"

Peter leaned over, planting a hand on either side of Stiles head. Stiles reached up, winding his arms around his neck. Peter hovered over him. He refused to go any lower. He lifted an eyebrow.

Stiles pursed his lips in displeasure. He quickly arched up, pressing their mouths together. It went from chaste to open mouth in seconds. Stiles backed off first, dropping onto the bed.

"Mm, morning breath." He said.

"Aren't you a delight?" Peter asked aloud.

He stood up, going to the window. Stiles watched him open it and swing on leg over the seal. He paused, looking over his shoulder.

"You should probably close the window. Anyone could just come in, you know."

Stiles threw a pillow. Peter laughed and jumped out the window. Stiles listened for a yelp or a bunch of curses as Peter twisted his ankle or tripped over the bush. None came.

"Show off," Stiles shook his head, which throbbed painfully at the action. He had time to sleep it off.

-

Stiles stumbled out of bed just after ten. He vaguely remembered his father leaving, parting on the strict order of 'do not leave the house, Stiles, I'm totally serious.'  He was glad of it.

He must have slept on his face, using his arms as a pillow. He blinked a lot, trying to get the extra moisture out of his eyes. The double vision remained either way. He rubbed them and went on weaving to the bathroom for a shower.

His eyes still hadn't straightened out an hour later when the knock sounded at the door. He trotted down the stairs, keeping his hand on the banister.

"Stiles, Scott is here!" Neil shouted up to him.

Stiles froze on the last step, eyes first on Neil, whose second image was tainted cream colored, then at Scott. Scott, who had always seemed to glow, was surrounded by a shifting gold.

"Shit," Stiles blurted.

-

"Something similar happened with Jeff. I got fixated on a color. This is so much more fucked up," Stiles explained as he and Scott went back upstairs.

"What exactly are you seeing?" Scott asked, keeping his voice pitched low.

"Auras, double. It depends on what I'm looking at." Stiles said. He sat down in his desk chair, almost missing. His head thudded in time with his pulse.

"What does it mean? Is it... is it the psychic thing trying to show you who's next?"

"I don't know, Scott," Stiles sunk his head into his hands. He pressed the heel of his palms to his eyes. "How will I even know? So far, everyone is a different color."

"Well, you were able to tell with Jeff. Maybe you'll see the person and they'll be lit up like a neon sign with the words, 'about to die' written on them or something."

Stiles dropped his hands, looking up at Scott. "Sometimes, I forget how smart you are."

Scott frowned at the backhanded compliment. Stiles wasn't paying attention. He went for his phone, snatching it up. He stared at the screen for a minute, trying to get his eyes go focus.

"Fuck, Scott, you text Allison."

"Why?" Scott questioned, taking the phone. He didn't have his anyway.

"We're going hunting and who has the most scary weaponry in town? That would be your girlfriend, buddy."

"Okay, but how are we going to find the person?"

"Lydia has this hearing thing on-" Stiles broke off at Scott's confused look. "Oh yeah, I'm pretty sure Lydia has some latent psychic ability, but I kinda forgot to mention it yesterday. Anyway, we can't rely on that. Danny can help us. I will owe him my first born, but he can hack into any camera that isn't on a closed circuit."

Scott nodded and started typing quickly. He sent the message to both Allison and Lydia. He added a small _I <3U -S_ for Allison, even though she didn't text back.

"What are we going to do about Neil?"

Stiles swiveled in his chair, going around in circles as he thought. "We can't exactly knock him out. And he'll come check on if we're too quiet."

The bulb went on over Scott's head. He pushed Stiles out of the way and opened his laptop. He typed in both the user name password, then found the folder where Stiles kept his porn. Stiles had named it 'dem dicks'. He placed all the videos in a playlist, and started them up. 

"Get your stuff," Scott said and ran down the hall. "Neil!" He shouted down the stairs. "Consider this a tie on the door knob."

Downstairs, Neil dropped something. Stiles and Scott didn't wait to find out what. Stiles went out first, backing up to watch Scott try not to fall on his ass. Scott landed on his heels and flailed backwards. Stiles steadied him, then kept a hand on the back of his hoody.

"Lead the way, Scotty, my genius brother. By the way, how did you know to do that?"

"Well, what's more embarrassing than walking in on two teenagers going at it?"

"Being the two teenagers getting caught going at it." Stiles offered

Scott grabbed his arm and started to pull. "Come on, Stiles."

-

Lydia, red all around her, picked them up at the end of the street in her mother's car. They got in, jostling all over the place. Lydia told them all to sit down and buckle up.

"Did you take the car?" Stiles asked.

Lydia said, "I explained myself and we agreed that I shouldn't be punished for doing the right thing."

"I never knew you were an expert on bullshit," Stiles said in awe.

She shot him a glare through the rear view mirror. "I used charm and sophistication. Something you know little about."

"Can we not, you guys? We have a chance to stop this thing. We shouldn't be insulting each other."

Stiles and Lydia made eye contact. "Truce?"

"Truce," Stiles agreed. "Can Scott borrow your phone?"

"Why?" Lydia opened the middle console, letting Scott grab the phone anyway.

"Danny is more likely to help you than me," Stiles explained. "He can send us video and stuff."

"But why is Scott-"

"Stiles is having issues," Scott explained but really didn't.

"Well, he better get over it." Lydia offered up as the car slowed.

Stiles saw two houses, both looking a lot like Allison's. There weren't any cars in the driveway, so Lydia didn't hesitate pull in. They got out of the car, Stiles trailing after them. Lydia walked straight in, like she belonged there. Stiles was busy tripping up the stairs.

"Allison," she called, halting in the entrance. Scott shut the door behind them.

Allison- brown- appeared not at the top of the stairs, but from the study. She skidded to a halt when she saw Scott and Stiles.

"What are you doing here?"

"Did you not get our text?" Scott asked

She shook her head wildly. "No. You two can't be here."

"Why?"

They all jumped guiltily when Chris stepped out of the study behind Allison. Stiles retreated for the door, Scott in sync with him. Chris eyed them one by one.

"We need to talk," he decided, cutting off any arguments or apologizes.

"Uh," Stiles filled in eloquently. Lydia's phone beeped. "We really can't right now-"

"That was not a request." Chris pointed to the living room. "All of you sit down. I need to make a phone call."

They exchanged looks and, surprisingly, did as they were told.


	10. Chapter 10

Peter let himself into the house. The house was quiet, the sleepy heartbeats of pack echoing in the house. Peter paused to listen, then went to the kitchen. Talia was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in front of her. By the look of things it was her third cup. Peter didn't understand why she even bothered with coffee. She had to drink an extraordinary amount just to feel anything, and then the effects wore off after only an hour or two.

The smell was strong and it always lingered in the house long after they had thrown away the grounds and washed out the pot and the mugs.

Talia wrinkled her nose. “You couldn't have taken a shower before coming home?”

“I'm about to, but thank you for caring about my hygiene.” Peter paused, then pulled out a chair to sit across from her.

He couldn't quiet put his finger on it but there was something wrong about the set of Talia's features. She didn't have any wrinkles yet, though Peter could guess that they weren't too far off. Having a litter of children didn't exactly seem conducive to retaining a youthful glow and Beacon Hills had a tendency to kill the rest.

Peter settled in, kicking his feet up in a chair and folding his hands. He was willing to wait. She didn't say anything for quiet a while. Peter counted floor tiles and marked the time with the beat of hearts.

Talia didn't break, nor did she gracefully give in. She took a sip of coffee, sat it down, then said very calmly, “I'm about to help create a baby hunter.”

Peter frowned. It didn't take him long to figure out who she was talking about. “You're going to help Chris Argent show his daughter.”

Talia nodded once, staring him straight in the face. Her gaze didn't waver, nor did it give any hint to what she was thinking. Peter really wanted to know.

“Do you think this is a good idea?” He asked.

Talia shrugged.

Peter wanted to throttle her. God, he doubted they'd ever move past the bickering siblings era. They would always be at odds, even if they both tried to have the pack's best interests in mind.

“It's always good to have an Argent as an ally.”

Peter waited for more, for Talia to continue justifying creating a hunter. Peter could almost feel their grandfather rolling over in his grave. That, if nothing more, convinced Peter it wasn't a completely terrible idea.

“Let's go for a run,” Talia announced, sitting her cup down on the table. “We can check the ravine again. Maybe we missed something.”

“What happened to all this noise about taking a shower?” Peter asked, pushing away from the table.

“You always say you're faster than me. If that's true, I'm sure you can catch up quick enough.” Talia said over her shoulder as she got up and headed for the door.

Peter waited for the door to shut behind her, before he went upstairs. He followed after her when he was done. The morning had finally come, light spilling through the trees and bathing the clearing where the house stood in blazing red light. Peter left the house behind.

-

“Sheriff,” Jordan said, poking his head into John's office a little after eleven. “You are not going to believe this.”

John turned away from the board covered in photos and notes. The cup of coffee at the edge of his desk was empty again and had been empty since he had stopped pacing around the office. He just stopped and stared, trying to piece together anything that could be found to link the victims.

Most of them were young and most of them were killed at night. And of course, Stiles kept getting himself involved. Beyond that, there was nothing similar. Tessa Burns was twenty-five. She worked at Barnes and Noble, stocking shelves and selling books. Heather Jetson was nineteen and had come home from being away at college for her mother's birthday. And finally Jeff Moore, eighteen, worked at a grocery store.

John could see a lot of things they could have in common, and yet they were all too broad. None of them gave him anything to run on. He needed to know where the cow heart could have come from, or maybe find a finger print or two. Anything would be better than the literal nothing that they had.

“What is it?” John asked, taking in the paper folded in Jordan's hand.

“We tested that claw that was found at the scene and were able to pull some DNA from it. We found a match.”

John frowned. “What do you mean a match?” How could the claw have matched a man? It was definitely not that of a person. It had been too long to be a finger nail and yet they had managed to pull something from it.

“It matches a man named Nikolai Foreman. He was a suspect in a murder fourteen years ago.”

“Do we have an address?” John asked. It didn't matter how, they finally had something to go on.

“Got it right here,” Parrish flapped the page. “We going?”

John grabbed his keys of his desk and nodded. “Let's call in some backup. This is the only lead we have. We better not fuck this up.”

-

Talia waited for Peter near the edge of the ravine. She paced up and down the edge of the cliff, trying to catch a scent. There was nothing to be found, as there had been nothing to find any of the other times they had looked. She peered down over the edge, scanning the cliff face for anything that looked displaced. The water was a gentle sound, not a roar but not a trickle either. It was enough to drown a man, enough to sweep them away if necessary.

They had looked at the lake where the river ended. It was small and ragged and the pack had found nothing there either. Wherever the creature had gone, it had not left a trace. She wondered how the shadow, as Deaton had called it, worked. Did it require its host in order to survive? Did the shadow have a mind or its own or was it a simple puppet, used to prolong one's own life?

Talia gave her a moment to feel the distaste that had been itching at her all week. She wondered how old the host was, if they had been killing for a very long time, or if Beacon Hills was their first. Both left her uneasy. She wanted the host gone and the shadow with it.

She tilted her head as Peter left the thick tree line, walking slowly to her. He had run to catch up, though he had slowed when he had gotten close. She could hear his heart though, and it didn't lie. It was the only part of him that never did.

Peter fell in step with her and they walked the length of the ravine that cut through the preserve. His shower had washed away most of the smell that had clung to him and she was finally able to breathe again. Part of her missed the years when Peter had been a child, before he started to reek of teen hormones and lust. He had often smelled like the forest and their father. The books in the study had become a second scent for him, always a part of him.

Sometimes she really wished she could just tune out the scents around her. Life wouldn't be nearly as awkward then. She knew he had taken up the Stilinski boy, but at least she wouldn't be getting slapped in the face with it.

The forest was quiet, the creatures within stilling as they passed. Most days, they were happy to share the forest with her pack, but today seemed to be different. She doubted her mood put them at peace.

“Peter, what exactly are you doing with the Sheriff's son?” She asked.

Peter glanced at her and she felt like hitting him upside the head. Of course he had automatically assumed she meant sex. She didn't know why she thought that would change when he turned twenty. It didn't.

“If this boy is important to you,” she tried again and kept going even when Peter stiffened, “I will accept this. But if you are just fucking around, I would suggest letting it go. That boy is smart, Peter, and this,” she waved her hand at the ravine, “will only open his eyes more. He will figure it out. I would rather the existence of our kind not become public knowledge.”

Peter was silent for all of a few moments, before smiling. “I wouldn't waste my time on someone who couldn't figure it out.”

That wasn't the answer Talia was looking for, but she didn't get a chance to push. Her phone started to ring. She had already guessed who it was, and a glance at the caller ID told her the rest. She let it ring for a moment.

“Care to watch me do something stupid?” She asked.

“I wouldn't miss it.”

Talia hooked her arm around his shoulders and pulled his back towards the house as she answered her phone. Fucking little brothers.

-

Stiles rubbed his eyes as the clock on the wall ticked louder and louder. Eleven o'clock had come and passed. Chris-surrounded in gray-stood next to the fireplace, one arm on the mantle, eyes watching each of them closely. The Talk he had mentioned wasn't even happening. They were all just sitting around, waiting. Allison stared somewhere in the distance, eyes glazed over in thought. Scott hands were knitted together and hanging between his legs, waiting patiently for whatever was to come. Lydia played with her hair, playing up the confused and ditsy routine.

Stiles could not stop shaking. His fingers kept returning to drum against his thighs, his knee bounced a mile a minute, and he repeatedly blinked. He wanted to get the hell out of the Argent home and get back to looking for the next victim. They were wasting time. He could feel his phone in his pocket and he wanted so badly to take it out. He was certain that Danny had texted Lydia back by now, but he didn't want to risk Chris seeing the footage Danny would hopefully start feeding them. He didn't want Chris Argent knowing anything about what they were doing. Too many people already did.

“Can we hurry this up, Mr. Argent?” Stiles demanded, biting his tongue a second too late.

Chris looked at him, though Stiles couldn't quite make out his expression. “Do you have somewhere you need to be, Stiles?”

“We should all be in school. I mean,” Stiles continued, giving him half a shrug. “I really don't want my dad to have to arrest us all for truancy. That would awfully awkward.”

“I'm sure the school will understand, considering the recent trauma you have all experienced.” Chris didn't even bat an eye as he said it.

“You don't know the public school system.”

“There are plenty of things I don't know, Stiles. Something I do know, is that you all know a lot more about these murders than you're telling.”

“We told the police everything we knew last night. Didn't we, Alison?” Scott burst in, looking to his girlfriend.

Stiles wanted to sigh, but held back. Scott sounded guilty as fuck. Stiles knew that Scott could lie if he really tried. He had a way of making himself look so earnest and trustworthy that people would just fall for it. At that moment though, he sounded like the worst actor in the history of theater. Stiles shifted slightly to nudge him, but Chris was looking at them both. He was waiting for them to fuck up.

It didn't matter anyway.

Allison grimaced. “Sorry, guys. We made a deal.”

Stiles darted a look in her general direction. Brown had faded to beige. It didn't swirl or shift, not in his line of sight anyway. It just surrounded her, overlapping her image at points. When Stiles managed to look right at the color it seemed transparent, but the second he blinked it was back to being whole.

“What kind of deal?” Lydia demanded, dropping the act. “Allison, what did you say?”

“Nothing yet.” She said, looking at her father with her shoulder's set stubbornly. “He's suppose to tell us something first.”

“What could he possibly tell us that would be as important as what we have to tell him?” Stiles demanded.

Allison looked at him. “It's about my mother's book.”

Stiles paused, blinking a few times. His vision didn't clear and it didn't magically help him come up with something good to say. He turned to look at Chris. “You heard the lady. Spill the beans. 

“No. We're waiting for someone.” Chris checked his phone. “She should be here in a few minutes.”

“Who are we waiting for, Dad?” Allison asked. She had been trying to find out all morning and nothing she did could seem to get it out of him. She didn't expect a different response, but that was the one she got.

“Talia Hale.”

“Why?” Stiles demanded, cutting off everyone else. “Why can't you just tell us? Why do you need her?”

“This is the only way for us all to be on the same page.” Chris said and that was it.

-

“Chris,” Talia nodded when he opened the door for her and Peter. He didn't object to her bringing a guest, nor did she object to that fact there there were four people in the living room instead of one.

She had been able to hear the multiple heartbeats from the street. It was easy to place both Chris and Allison's. They were familiar after all this time. The thumped like a drum, a solid kind of sound, like their hearts were a testament to their character. She could recognize them anywhere. She always could when it came to her allies.

When Chris had first arrived in Beacon Hills, Talia hadn't been able to sleep for weeks. She had watched him closely, constantly on guard. She had waited for him to make a move, for him to take after his father. She had been prepared to rip his throat out at the first sign that he was a danger to her pack.

And then Chris had apologized. It had shocked her, had rattled her right to her core. She had met many who claimed to live by the code and then threw it away the first chance they got. For someone to live by the code, even when their dignity was at stake, blew her away. Chris stuck to it though, even when it didn't seem worth it. Even after all the time she regarded him with suspicion, he stuck to it. When the months went by and he held to his words, when he only tracked down those that killed, be it creature or hunter, and he gave her pack room to breathe, she had to admit that perhaps she was also wrong about him, just as he had been about them.

She would never call Chris a friend, not to his face or any other. Hunters and werewolves being friends was a child's fable, passed down to the young ones in hopes of not jading them prematurely. And yet, he was an ally, and... She would never invite him to Christmas dinner, but he was welcome in her home, in her territory. She trusted her pack under his protection, trusted his aid in keeping Beacon Hills a quiet and safe place to live.

Chris wasn't a friend. But some days, he almost felt like pack.

The other three heartbeats weren't completely unfamiliar. She knew them to be people she had met in passing. She scented the air and the rest slotted into place. The McCall boy, Ms. Lydia Martin, and of course, the Stilinski child. It wasn't not surprising in the least. She should have expected the three of them to find their way in.

Peter didn't make a sound, but he shifted. He smelled confused for a moment, before it smoothed away. She expected nerves, a quiet aniexty at the very least, but instead he smelle of anticaption. Apparently, her brother was eager for to find out the boy's reaction.

“It's the only why to get them to talk to us,” Chris said under his breath.

She nodded, just once. “Of course, Chris. Can we open a window?” She asked as she followed him into the living room.

The room reeked. She resisted the urge to plug her nose. God damn it, she thought she had already solved this issue. Her brother could use a little discretion when it came to his nighttime activities, but instead he'd rather make a spectacle of himself and the Stilinski boy. She didn't know why she had to put up with his shit.

The four teenagers turned to look at them when they entered the room. Talia went to stand next to the fire place as Chris went to open a window. The breeze that blew in was chilly and did little to help to clear the room. Talia would take what she could get. Peter lingered in the doorway.

He and the boy looked at each other for a long minute. Her brother folded his arms and leaded against the door jam. If he was aiming to look like an asshole, he hit his mark. Stilinski turned his back to him.

“Would you like to explain to them first, should I just go ahead and show them?” Talia directed her question at both Chris and Peter.

“Show them. I'm sure they can handle it.” Chris answered. He stood behind Allison's chair, gripping the back of it. Talia heard his knuckles creak.

“What exactly are you going to show up?” The Stilinski boy asked. His eyes cut to McCall.

McCall blinked once, then said, “we should be leaving soon. We're suppose to meet the Sheriff at the station.”

A lie, if she ever heard one.

“We're on a tight schedule,” Stilinski continued. That wasn't a lie, though Talia had no clue about why they were in a hurry.

Talia sized him up. He knew something, they all knew that. She didn't the extent, but she'd admit to the nagging worry in the back of her head that he was somehow involved. The creature, or the man as Deaton had said, could be in two places at once. The boy continued to show up where the murders happened, he even knew that it was coming.

Peter said he was marked, but none of the others' had been visible. It might not _mean __anything._

The boy didn't smell wrong though. He didn't smell like the creature, like dead leaves and rot. He smelled like a teenager, like fear and agitation. She stared him down and she could see him thinking ahead, desperately trying to figure out what was happening, She didn't feel like he was a danger. He felt like a human. She hoped he was just that and nothing more. She didn't want to kill a boy that her son had grown up with and her brother was taken with.

She looked each of them in the eye. Then, she looked at Peter. Last chance, she thought. 

He tilted his head in a challenge.

Talia shifted.


	11. Chapter 11

Nikolai Foreman's residence was near the county line. The neighborhood was small and well kept, if a bit over the top with decorations. Several cars were parked long the streets and an old man was mowing his lawn. The house in question had a newer model Toyota parked out front. A flock of Flamingo lawn ornaments adorned the yard and the windows were blacked out with navy drapes.

John parked blocked the driveway when he parked. Parrish pulled in front of him, one tired touching the curb. John and Tara approached the front door while Parrish and Joe circled around the back. John stood to one side of the door, while Tara rapped her knuckles against it in a series of loud knocks. She stepped back and they both waited.

John expected to hear someone moving around in the house, or even the quick curses of someone noticing the police out front. There wasn't any movement though, not the creak of floor boards or the shuffle of feet. The curtains didn't move.

Down the street, John could hear a couple screaming at each other at the top of their lungs. He wanted to rub his eyes. He stayed still, hands hanging loosely by his side.

Tara caught his eye and they exchanged a quick look. It was looking less and less likely that Foreman was home. John gritted his teeth. They had his car at least. They could ask his neighbors, see if any of them knew where he might be.

Hopefully he wasn't over the state-line already and heading for the nearest country that didn't extradite prisoners.

A moment later, John's radio buzzed and Parrish's voice came over. John could distantly hear him around the back of the house.

“John, can you come around back?”

“Did you find something?”

“Yeah,” Jordan said after a moment. “The back door is open.”

John didn't reply, just started around the side of the house. Tara followed after him, eyes locked on the windows as they passed. All of them were the same, darkened with drapes and dirty from the lack of care. Parrish and Joe stood on the back porch, a small wooden one. The backyard had even more lawn decorations, though the flamingos seemed to be reserved for the front yard. Plastic windmills in all colors spun softly whenever a breeze came by and wind-chimes, some of them made from bottles and others great metal things bought from stores, hung from garden hooks and the single tree in the back yard. They were still.

Parrish beckoned too them and John stepped up onto the porch. The backdoor hung open. AT a glance, John could see into the kitchen and a hallway that lead towards the living room. The smell of decay hit him a moment later.

John was unfortunately well antiquated with the smell of death. “Call it in, Joe,” he said and stepped past them and into the house.

-

Talia's face rippled and changed. Her eyes lit up red and the bones in her face became ridged and pronounced. Hair sprouted and her teeth grew, changing her from a beauty woman into something that wasn't human.

Stiles wasted little time putting the couch between the two of them, but he didn't bolt for the door like he wanted to. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that Peter was blocking the doorway and was trying his hardest not to laugh at them.

“What the fuck?” Allison demanded.

Stiles turned his head and could see that Allison had gone for vase on the coffee table. She wielded it like a weapon, pressing backwards into Scott. Scott had tried to get to his feet, but couldn't fully stand with Allison in front of him. Lydia's eyes had gone wide, but she hadn't moved an inch, fingers digging into the edges of her coat.

Chris reached out and pulled the vase from Allison's grip. She was reluctant to let it go, but eventually she gave up and collapsed back on to the couch.

“Let me explain,” Chris sat the vase down but didn't return to his spot next to the window. “Talia, could you,” Chris gestured at her face.

Talia shook her head like a dog and her face returned to normal. “Go ahead, Chris.”

Stiles buts in before he can start. “Okay, just to be clear, everyone saw that freaky shit, right?”

Stiles could handle the visions and the ghosts and the monster, but he was drawing the line at shapeshifters or whatever the fuck Talia Hale was. If he was going down that road, he was damn well taking everyone with him.

Lydia nodded once, her eyes still locked on Talia Hale. Stiles could see her mind clicking away. He didn't bother trying to guess what she was thinking. He had already thought of something else.

He turned and faced Peter directly. “You knew,” he accused. “How long have you know?”

“A while,” Peter drawls.

“How long is a while? Like, a few days, a year, or your whole damn life?” Stiles demanded. Stiles opened his mouth to continue but his thoughts screeched to a halt very suddenly. He closed his mouth with a click. He didn't move, even though he wanted to pace the room and continue hurtling questions at anyone that was near by.

“How many Hales are shapeshifters?” He asked, because if Peter and Chris knew about, it was likely so did some of Talia's kids. For all Stiles knew, it could be genetic. Or maybe the entirely of Beacon Hills consisted of fairy tale creatures and monsters and Stiles was one of the last people to find out about it.

“Werewolves,” Peter corrected. “And most.” His face didn't ripple, didn't change, but his eyes lit up gold and then faded back to blue.

“Great,” Stiles murmured. He gave two thumbs up, and went to sit back down. He kicked the table hard as he passed, but he didn't pay it any mind. He sat down on the couch, pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, and said, “I'm ready to listen.”

As long as his head didn't explode, he'd be okay.

Chris started by telling the history of the Argent family. Allison paced the entire time, moving between the coffee table and the couch and then looping around Lydia's chair. Chris explained the code and skimmed over the fact that they dragged Allison around the country chasing monsters. He talked about her mother and Stiles could almost hear the waver in his voice, could almost see Chris as a widower and not a warrior.

He fumbled when he reached the part about Gerard. He stumbled his way through, trying to explain that Gerard was a great hunter, but not a person to be admired. Talia took pity on him.

“Gerard Argent attempted to murder my family several years ago. We dealt with it accordingly.”

“You killed my grandfather?” Allison asked.

Peter answered, “he had it coming.”

Chris plowed on before anything more could be said. He quickly got to the point where they had started investigating the murderers. After a moment's hesitation, he filled them in on what little they had learned, including the marks.

Stiles grimaces and rested the urge to rub his chest. It was one thing when he thought the monster was just a monster, but to know that it had a human side, a side that was deliberately murdering people made it worse. Something wasn't just marking and killing people, but someone. The person had probably done this all before, this whole ordeal was probably old hat to them.

It made Stiles' stomach churned in disgust. How the fuck was he going to stop it if it was partially human? He just had to get to however was next first and try to find a way to trip it up.

“We need to know everything you know. We know what the creature is, but we need to find out who it is and how you knew who was next.” Chris continued.

“Is it because you're marked?” Talia questioned.

Stiles' back went ridged and he wanted to ask how she knew. He didn't have to. Fucking Peter.

“I'll have you know I'm just very good at guessing.” Stiles lied. Talia's mouth twitched, just a little, and Stiles had to think about the fact that werewolves probably had more than freaky shifting powers.

“This is very serious, Stiles. We're trying to save lives, here.” Chris folded his arms and stared him down, looking like a disappointed father scolding a child.

Stiles snapped. “What the fuck do you think we've been trying to do? We probably would have found them by now if you hadn't decided to hold us hostage for this little chit-chat.”

Scott grabbed his arm, his grip tight. He gave a little tug and Stiles sunk back into the cushions. His heart was pounding and his vision was wavering. Stiles couldn't smell anything, not the scent of fall that was carried in by the breeze or the detergent on his clothes. Scott gave his arm a squeeze and then leaned into his side, pushing hard.

Stiles got the message. _Chill the fuck out and maybe it's time to let people more equipped handle this shit._

Stiles pushed back and hoped he convey the message of, _No. I don' t trust them not to fuck this up._

“What do you mean, Stiles?”

“Stiles was able to recognize Jeff, likely because he actually met Jeff before his death. Stiles hopes that he'll be able to do it again, given he can view a large enough area,” Lydia explained, smoothly jumping over the part about the visions and the ghosts and the fact that she herself had focused on two of the victims in question.

Stiles stared at her and the red aura shimmering around her, like it did with Talia and Peter. Oh. Stiles glanced at Allison's, who aura had continued to fade from brown, to beige, to gray. Just like Chris'. He didn't know what color the next victim would show, but he was certain he would know it when he saw it.

“How does he plan on doing that?”

“Our friend, Danny. We asked him to hack into the cameras.” Scott filled in and finally he let go of Stiles' arm.

_Ok. Need to know only._

“Can you actually do that?” Talia asked.

Stiles nodded. “I think so. As long as Danny sends us the feed.”

“You best get on it then,” Peter said from the doorway.

Stiles had the wild urge to throw something at him-a pillow, his phone, maybe himself. Anything that would wipe away the amusement and the-the whatever the fuck that had taken up residence on his face. A fucking werewolf. Stiles was in a undefined relationship with a fucking werewolf.

Stiles gave up the ghost of having a normal life. Lydia handed over her phone and Stiles handed it to Scott. Danny had done as requested and after a few moments of Scott typing blurred letters into something, a feed came up.

What little Stiles could see whatever very helpful. It was a newer camera, with a somewhat clear picture of a traffic light and half of a downtown street. camera. Stiles almost wished it was in black and white. It might have helped with the colors blurring into each other and lapping over people and things. It was like a stream of flickering colors and Stiles quickly got his answer.

Beacon Hills was a weird town. He spotted at least one red aura for every ten people that passed. The rest were shades of brown, blues, and greens. He guessed that meant normal, or as normal as people could be.

“Is it going to work?” Allison asked, leaning over the edge of the couch to look int other screen.

“If they pass through, then yes. It'll work.” Stiles rubbed one eye, but it didn't do any good.

“There is one thing, I want to ask,” Talia said from her spot by the fireplace.

Stiles didn't look up, not wanting to miss anyone going pass the traffic light. They could have already passed, or they could be about to. He didn't want to think about the fact that they were probably anywhere else but driving through downtown Beacon Hills. It was the only chance they had and he didn't want to lose any more of it.

“You and Ms. Martin was there when the attack occurred yesterday, were you not?”

Stiles nodded and tried not to let his heart beat out of his chest. Something about the tone of her voice set off alarm bells in Stiles' head. She knew something, that was clear. It was something that they didn't know, or something they had deliberately left out. She was setting a trap for them to walk into.

“Yeah?”

“Which one of you screamed?”

Stiles shrugged and kept his eyes on the phone. She was talking about the scream, the one that had nearly blew his head apart and had set his ears ringing. If he hadn't been running for his life, he'd probably have crumbled. He didn't know a human could be that loud.

But maybe Lydia wasn't entirely human either. That didn't mean he was going to throw her under the bus.

“Both of us, probably.”

“Oh. It just sounded a lot like a banshee's scream is all.”

“A banshee? How interesting.” Lydia murmured. “Do all mythological creatures exist or just the interesting ones?”

“Do vampires exist?” Allison asked, seizing onto the lifeline Lydia was trying to build herself. “Like, do they sparkle or do they burst into flames in the sunlight?”

Neither Talia nor Chris allowed them to have it. “A banshee screams when someone dies.”

“Shouldn't they be screaming all the time?”

“It could be a matter or proximity to the death, or it could be that banshee's are rather rare. Most of them were killed off during the middle ages.”

“How nice,” Lydia intoned.

Stiles' skin prickled and ice spread out over his shoulder. He knew immediately what it was, and a shudder worked its why through his body. He turned his head slowly, the phone settling onto his lap.

Tessa stood behind him, hand hovering over his shoulder. Her face was pinched tight, in pain or in fear he couldn't tell. She was like mist, less solid every time he saw her, the number on her chest almost sheering in its brightness.

She didn't have an aura, or perhaps she was the aura. Either way, she was the only thing that didn't waver in his vision, didn't split and double. Her lips moved and he could make out his name. The rest was lost to the silence.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw Lydia's head whip around, eyes wide and startled. Her eyes skimmed over him, past him, and then back. She swallowed hard, then looked back at Chris and Talia. Her face settled into a mask of indifference, but it was too late.

Both Stiles and Tessa had noticed . Chris and Talia frowned down at her, confusion and suspicious making it's rounds.

Tessa turned towards Lydia and her hand passed seamlessly through him. His chest burned with the cold, his lungs aching with each breath. She jerked her hand back, cradling it against her chest. He wondered what it was like to find yourself intangible and unbound by a mortal body. He imagined it was horrifying, doubly so since a creature that shouldn't exist had taken her life and cast her soul adrift.

Tessa hurried to Lydia's side. She passed through the couch and avoided Allison as best she could. Allison didn't twitch as she passed by, not a shiver or anything else to say that she was aware of her presence. Lydia's head turned, just slightly as Tessa bent over her, getting right next to her ear.

Tessa opened her mouth wide and shouted. Stiles didn't hear a sound, but he knew what shouting looked like. Lydia flinched and clamped her hands over her ears. Tessa jumped, a sorry look crossing her face. She tried to pull at Lydia's hands, but her fingers passed through, as they had down with everything else. Lydia shuddered, but dropped her hands. Her eyes were unfocused as Tessa leaned in again, and softer this time, repeated what she had been trying to say.

Someone was finally able to hear her, after days and days of being locked into playing charades. The relief on her face was clear, and Stiles let the phone drop onto the couch. He got up and made his way over, Tessa only standing straight when he reached their side.

He could feel the others looking at them, knew that the two of them were fucked. They weren't going to be able to keep any secrets, not if the world had anything to say about it.

“What did she say?” Stiles asked and looked away from Tessa and down at Lydia.

Lydia blinked twice, peering into the area where Tessa stood. She couldn't see her, but she could hear her. Lydia met his eyes. “She said the shadow is free.”

-

The kitchen was sparkling clean. It looked like it hadn't been used in a while, if ever. John didn't understand why most of Hollywood depicted murderer's homes as sinister and filled with gore. Most of them were shockingly normal, filled with knickknacks and photos. They were homes, like any other.

This one was too, even though there was an emptiness to it that made his hair stand on end. The smell was stifling.

Parrish stepped inside behind him and the two of them followed the smell down the hallway, back towards the front of the house. There was only two doors in the hallway. Both of them were open, one into a bathroom and the other into what should have been a bedroom.

John clicked on his flashlight and shone it into the dark room. The room was sparsity furnished and the source of the smell is obvious with a sweep of the light.

In one corner was a mattress, unmade and covered in books. The walls were bare, expect for the drapes that covered the windows. In the middle of the room was two standing mirrors that reached from floor to ceiling. Between was a single chair with a candle seated in the seat.

On the ground was Nikolai Foreman, or what was left of him.

“Jesus Christ,” Parrish muttered and John was inclined to agree.

The other victims had all been torn apart, but besides the attack that killed them, they were almost untouched. Foreman was an entirely different case. Parts of him were missing entirely, and the damage was inflicted everywhere. If it weren't' for the other victims, John would be forced to say it was an animal attack.

John knew damn well it wasn't an animal attack, it couldn't have been. The evidence, what little they had managed to collect, all pointed to to this man having something to do with the murders. But their only suspect was dead by the same means as all the others.

It didn't make any sense. Not the claw that belonged to a man, not the murders, and not the fact that his son had managed to involve himself in this chaos. John was fucking sick of things not making sense, of constantly feeling like he was both out of the loop and miles behind. Instead of catching the guy, all he got was more loose ends.

He clicked off his flashlight and head back outside to wait for Sebastian. There was nothing they could do but wait.

-

Stiles threw away any pretense of keeping things under-wraps. He felt cold all over and something horrible was looming over them all. “What do you mean it's free?” He demanded at Tessa, who looked at him sadly.

“Stiles,” Scott hissed.

The others were looking at him and Lydia, seizing them up and dissecting them. Any chance of them getting out of the Argent home looking like normal people who got mixed up in the supernatural was gone.

Stiles accepted that about as gracefully as he accepted everything else. Meaning, not at all and wanting to scream. But Tessa was in front of him and they could finally communicate. She might be able to tell him where the next victim was, or even who the monster was. It was all they had to go on.

“She says it cut it's tether to humanity.” Lydia translated as the shock started to wear off. Her mind took off and she asked the next question before Stiles could. “What did it do? Who is it?”

Tessa waved her arms.

“It killed it's human half. She doesn't know who it was, but it's not even remotely human now.”

“Who's next?” Chris voiced the question. He either already caught up, or he was just getting right to the important thing.

Tessa didn't say anything for a long moment. Stiles could see it on her face.

“No.” The word was loud and harsh. “No. It's not too late.” Stiles' voice wavered at the end. “Just tell me where they are.”

Tessa reached out and gently touched his shoulder. Her fingers didn't pass through this time, but they didn't settle properly either. She hesitated for a moment and he worried she was going to confirm it, that it was truly too late.

“ _The public pool.”_ She said with Lydia echoing the words a moment later.

Stiles swung around and it was like a spell was broken. Tessa disappeared, there one second and gone the next. Stiles prepared himself to have to fight past Talia Hale and Chris Argent, but they were both already heading for the door.

“Stay here,” Chris ordered. “We'll handle this.”

“No!” Allison shot to her feet. “This isn't what we agreed to.”

“We don't have time for this.” Chris said and didn't stay any longer than that.

Talia followed with the parting shot of, “Peter, make sure they don't leave.”

Then they were both out the door and the car pulling out of the drive way shortly after.

“Fuck that.” Allison went for the window and Stiles took the opportunity to go for the door.

Peter Hale or no, he was not going to be stuck inside the Argent household while the monster murdered someone.

He only made it two steps before he was stopped. It wasn't by Peter or anyone else in the room for that matter. It was the fact that he was no longer in the house. He wasn't in any house at all.

Two people, almost mirror images of each other, grabbed his arms and pulled him forward. The three of them laughed, the twins and the person that was him but was someone else too. They were near a pool, the water glimmering. The radio played, loud and obnoxious in the outdoor space. They were the only ones there, not even a life guard watching over them.

They weren't suppose to be there, they were breaking the rules, but that was what being young was all about.

One of the twins let go and ran to the pull. The twin dove in, water flying everywhere and onto everyone. The other twin laughed and tugged hard enough to send him stumbling.

“ _Showoff,”_ the twin shouted.

The two of them walked to the edge of the pool and looked down, into the water and at the other twin treading water. The twin was marked, but Stiles knew the person couldn't see it. They didn't feel anything, or see anything.

They didn't notice the shadow fall over them.

Stiles pulled as hard as he could, away from them and away from the twins. He twisted, trying to put his back to the vision. He closed his eyes and he covered his ears. He tried to will it away, tried to step outside of where the two of them had slipped into each other.

He didn't get out fast enough.

The pain was distant, but overwhelming. It slipped in between the screams and the ugly crunch of bones breaking and flesh being torn. A grief that didn't belong to him crept into him and he felt hot tears prick his eyes.

He kept pulling, desperately trying to drag the two of them apart. It didn't work until the monster was finished. The vision shattered and Stiles blinked his eyes open with the taste of blood in his mouth.

His face radiated with pain, but it's nothing compared to the feeling of being torn apart.

“I'm sorry,” Scott blurted. “I didn't know what else to do.”

“Scotty,” Stiles said and touched the stinging part of his face. “Did you slap me?”

His ears rang with the slap and a moment later he found himself sitting down on the floor, his legs unable to hold him up. He didn't shake, didn't even feel the hitch in his chest as he tried to breath. He felt numb.

“I'm sorry,” Scott said again and sank down in front of him. “You kept saying stop it and it was all I could think of.”

“It's fine, Scotty.”

“What the fuck just happened?” Someone demanded and Stiles can't tell if it was Peter or Allison.

Stiles pulled his knees up to his chest. He sat his elbows on top and tried not to fall apart. “Two more were claimed.”

The third one was just for fun.


	12. Chapter 12

It was the same as all the other times. Talia and Chris arrived after the creature had already fled. The blood was still fresh and slowly dripping into the pool. Their hearts were gone, as were their lives. Chris bent over each of them, staring for a long time. Talia prowled around the pool, sniffing. The air was filled with chlorine and blood, and the thick scent of terror and pain lingered. She doubted it would fade for a long time.

Chris stood up, leaving behind the bodies. Talia wasn't sure if he was studying their faces, searching for their identities in their dead eyes, or if he was saying a pray for their departed souls. Talia didn't ask and had no plan on doing so. Perhaps Chris was simply looking for any difference in the killings.

She could see the differences at a glance. The creature had torn the poor kids apart, not stopping after it took their hearts like all the other times. The whole area was an awful, bloody mess and Talia had to watch where she stepped.

“You got anything?” Chris asked. He didn't look away from where the water rippled with drops of blood. The drops held together for only a second before dissolving and disappearing in the bluish water.

“No. It's long gone.” She said and made another circle around the pool. She should have been able to smell where the bloody hearts had been carried away, but her nose burned and a sneeze was building. She hadn't been able to smell them any of the other times either, overpowered by the soft, dead smell of the creature.

Whatever the creature was doing with the hearts, it was doing it quickly.

“We should report it to the police then get back to the children.”

“They won't be going anywhere,” Talia assured him and then immediately regretted it. There wasn't a chance in hell of Peter actually listening to her. She could order around her children and her husband, but Peter loved to fuck her over.

Chris scoffed. She wouldn't have heard it if she were human. She pretended not to have. She took out her phone, but didn't dial.

Ms. Martin was indeed a banshee. She had spoken to the dead and whoever it was had told her where they could find the next victims. And the Stilinski boy had been able to see her. The whole group had more secrets than Deaton.

She got the feeling that getting to the truth was going to be difficult. If they were her children, she'd bribe them and then ground them, but they weren't her children. All she could do was listen to their hearts and call them on their bullshit.

“Things are going to get worse,” Chris said into the silence between them. He finally looked at her. “But maybe now that we know what Lydia can do, we'll be able to get a step ahead.”

Talia nodded. She doubted Ms. Martin was going to step back and let people die, even if her sudden communication with the dead left her terrified and her heart fluttering like a trapped bird.

-

“Stiles, you need to sit up straight,” Peter knelt down in front of him.

Stiles' heart had slowed dramatically after the slap. It had crossed Peter's mind, but he had dismissed it just as quickly. He hadn't expected Scott to do it. One second Peter had been shaking Stiles, then Scott was getting into the space between them. Regret and guilt had poured off of him in waves, but it had dissipated when Stiles blinked his eyes open.

Stiles heart had been hammering a second before, and then it went alarmingly quiet. Even though Stiles was still talking, Peter had the worrying fear that he was going to faint. Whatever he had seen-and Peter knew he had seen something and if Stiles was to be believed, he had seen the deaths of the creature's next victims-had scared the shit out of him.

If the number on his chest was a six, he was next.

“No, I'm good,” Stiles murmured, curling more into himself.

Peter had no idea how he was able to breathe, considering his knees were practically digging into his chest. He wasn't panicking, but he wasn't breathing right either. His breaths were shallow, barely even there at all.

“Stiles, come on, man. Sit on up and-” Scott didn't say tell us what happened. They knew what happened, Scott probably better than any of the rest of them. “I'll take you home. Neil will probably be getting suspicious soon.”

Stiles didn't move for a long moment, then he slowly uncurled. Air filled his lungs in a soft rush and his heart started to pick up. The odd, almost bland scent that had replaced the panic started to fade away. He smelled tired and resigned.

“Okay, dude. Help me up, would you?”

Peter grabbed his hand before Scott could and hoisted him to his feet. He wobbled and weaved, then went steady. His color was all off, pale and sickly. He forced a smile and took his hand back.

“You're gonna be a good boy and let us leave?” Stiles asked.

“Dog jokes, Stiles? I should have known,” Peter sighed, but he wasn't going to stop him. That didn't mean he wasn't going to follow him either.

“Lydia?” Scott asked and Lydia nodded. She pulled out her keys and pushed passed. Scott and Stiles followed a minute later, Scott throwing over his shoulder, “I'll call you in a little while, Allison.”

Allison went to the window and waved to them as the car pulled out of the driveway and headed back towards the Stilinski house. When they were gone, Allison turned back to Peter. He had thought about leaving while she was at the window. He hadn't even tried to follow Talia's orders and he knew was going to catch shit for it later.

“Peter,” Allison said as she turned to him. “I want you to tell me everything that my father didn't.”

“It's very foolish to help hunters,” Peter returned.

Allison scoffed at him. “Doesn't look like your family follows those rules.”

Peter sized her up. There was a change about Allison. It was subtle and it would only get her into trouble, but it was there. She was still a teenager with too much knowledge and too little training. But even a baby hunter could become dangerous, given enough time. Peter could see a potential in her, just like he could see one in Lydia and Stiles.

“What exactly do you want to know?” He finally asked.

“Start at the beginning. With Gerard.”

Peter could do that.

-

The car ride back was longer than the one to Allison's. Stiles kept his head pressed to the window, the air outside just cold enough for his breathe to fog the window. He could feel Scott glancing at him several times throughout the ride.

The auras were gone. Whatever had triggered them, whatever purpose they were meant to serve, had been snatched away from him when the twins died. He had been so close to saving them. The auras had given him a chance and he had blown it.

Six people were dead. One of them hadn't even been marked, they had just been at the wrong place at the wrong time. The creature had torn through them like paper. Stiles swallowed hard. Whatever restrictions the creature had been operating under where gone. The small sense of security that had come from the idea of it only going after targets vanished.

It was going to come after Stiles, that was a fact. And if anyone was around when it did, they were just as likely to get their hearts ripped out too.

Stiles didn't stop himself; he reached up and rubbed the number on his chest. Most of the other numbers had visibly been from a different numeric system, despite having several similarities. The twins' numbers had looked like a four and an eight respectively. Given that they were foreign, there was no way for Stiles to know what his symbol represented.

Even so, Stiles couldn't escape the fear that his number was a six and that he was next. And if he wasn't, it was just someone else.

He felt pretty fucked, all things considered.

Lydia parked down the street. She opened her mouth, probably to interrogate him, but them closed it.

“I have some research to do,” she finally settled on saying. “Don't do anything stupid.”

“You too,” Stiles shot back tiredly. He got out of the car and Scott followed.

The two of them trudged down the street and ducked around back. Getting back in the window was a task all it's own. Stiles boosted Scott up, only letting go and stepping back when Scott finally managed to pull himself up and hitch his leg over the window seal. They spent almost ten minutes figuring out how to get Stiles through the window before they finally manage. The plan consisted of Stiles hoping up and scrambling at the wall while Scott tried to hoist him in, the two of them grunting and showing just how little lacrosse training actually did for them.

Stiles computer had died at some point, but Stiles could hear the TV downstairs playing very loudly. A quick peak down the stares revealed Neil stationed in front of the TV, asleep on the job. He had obviously been bored to death of daytime TV and had resorted to sleep to escape. A few stomps on the stairs startled him awake.

Stiles gave him a way before returning to his room, where Scott was camped out at his desk chair.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked.

“Not in the least.”

“Okay,” Scott agreed easily. He thrummed his fingers on the chair for a moment. “So, werewolves.”

Stiles flopped onto his bed and pressed his face into the pillows. He did not want to think about it. He didn't want to think about anything at that moment. Closing his eyes brought images of open chest cavities and he could still vividly imagine the sounds.

“I'm not even surprised,” Stiles lied. Now that he was looking back on it, the Hales were about as subtle as an earthquake. But at the time, it had surprised him.

“I always knew there was something weird about them.”

Stiles pushed himself up just enough to look at him. “Oh really?”

“Yeah. Who gets someone a goat as a prank?”

Stiles flopped back down.

“Do you want me to stay until your dad gets home?”

Stiles nodded into the bed sheets.

“Okay, dude.” Scott said and that was that.

-

Talia and Chris put in an anonymous call to the police before returning to the Argent home. Talia suspected that the teenagers wouldn't be waiting for them when they got back. A text to Peter confirms that.

_Are they still there?_

_**Nope.** _

_Did you even try?_

_**Not at all.** _

_Where are you at?_

_**Rifling through Chris' desk.** _

_Stop doing that._

_**Don't worry, it was Allison's idea.** _

Talia decided it wasn't worth it and put her phone away.

“We should probably fill Deaton in,” Talia mused. “Maybe he'll be able to figure out the purpose of the marks.”

“The kids gone?”

“All except for Allison and Peter, though they are probably getting into as much trouble as they can while still at the house.”

Chris nodded. “Our only lead are those kids. We should be careful not to let them out of our sight.”

“I've got that covered,” Talia assured him. She had already decided to have her family camp outside of their houses. She was exhausted though and she didn't think Chris was any better off. She hoped her pack was fairing slightly better.

The rest of the drive was quiet. Talia spent it thinking planning the new patrols and trying not to doze off in her seat.

-

John arrived home late in the evening, long after sundown. Stiles and Scott jogged down the stairs to meet him. Neil didn't quiet avoid their eyes, but he made no move to initiate eye contact either. When he moved to leave, he offered Scott a ride home, which he took after a glance at Stiles.

Stiles wanted to ask if the police had found the next victims, but waited for his father to mention it first. It took him an hour and a out of date TV dinner before he brought it up. He threw away his trash but didn't return to the table. Instead, he leaned back against the counter.

He spoke like he was breaking bad news. “We found more victims today.”

“How many?” Stiles asked, because that was what was expected of him. He didn't know why his father was mentioning it. Maybe it was because he was involved and his father didn't want him to run off and do something stupid, like think he was invincible.

“Four.” John watched him closely, searching for something in his face. “One of them was our only suspect.”

Stiles' head jerked up. Four? Then, “You had a suspect?”

“Not for very long,” John sighed. “We found him dead in his home, same cause of death.”

Tessa had said the shadow had cut it's tether to humanity. Had it killed its human half?

“And the other three?” Stiles asked into the lull. His father studied him for a long time.

“At the public pool. Someone called it in anonymously. We're hoping they saw something and will come forward on their own.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Stiles hedged. He looked up and met his father's eyes. His father had dark circles under his eyes and his face was drawn. This whole event had been hell on him. Stiles would kill for things to go back to normal.

“Can I go to school tomorrow?”

“Why?” John asked, suspicious right from the get go. “I thought you'd take any excuse you could get not to go.”

Stiles thought about lying, but it didn't seem worth it. “I just want to feel normal for a little while.” And to stay as far away from the people he cared about. He didn't know what was the limit for the creature attacking someone, but he hoped a school full of teenagers was enough to dissuade it.

“Okay, Stiles, I”ll drop you off in the morning.”

“Cool. Thanks, Pops.” Stiles got up from the table and took the time to give his father a hug, hanging on to him for longer than normal. John hugged back and when they finally parted ruffled his hair.

“Love you kiddo. Now go to bed and don't think about doing anything stupid.”

“Right back atcha.” definitelynauseous

He went up stairs and got ready for bed, slow and sluggish the entire time. He felt guilty and fucking terrified, but he rather not feel either of those. He rather feel tired to his bones. It was easier that way.

Half an hour later, John headed to bed. When his father's snores finally filled the house, Stiles got up and went to the window. He opened it and then sat down at his desk chair, waiting. He made paper airplanes to pass the time.

Around the third failed flight, Peter came tumbling in through his window. He expected a much more graceful entrance, but he had left his shoes under the window just to fuck with him. Peter dusted himself off, quiet and very much aware of his father sleeping just down the hall.

Stiles asked the important question first. “A werewolf, really?” Because honestly. At least they weren't vampires.

Peter shrugged. “A psychic, really?” He mocked back.

“It's probably just the mark,” Stiles muttered, then got up. “Shut the window, would you? A wild animal could get in.”

He crawled into bed and kept his ear out for his window sliding shut. Then Peter was crawling into the bed next to him, wrapping around him like a clingy octopus. Stiles hogged the pillow and closed his eyes.

“I you have superpowers or some shit, I want to know about them.” Stiles mumbled into the pillow.

“Only if you tell me when the visions started.”

“It's not just visions. Sometimes I see shit too. Like Tessa and colors. And I get these feelings every once in a while. They've been a big fucking help as you can tell.”

Peter rubbed his nose against his hair. “I can hear your heart beat.”

Stiles stiffened and said heart took off racing. “Like right now?”

“Pretty much anywhere.”

“That's fucking weird, dude.” Stiles shifted slightly and told his heart to fucking stop racing. No wonder the asshole had always been able to find him and figure out when he was lying. And-oh god, he totally knew how far gone Stiles was on him. “What other crazy powers do you have?”

“I can smell emotions.”

“That sounds fake, but okay.”

“And I could probably rip a car door off.”

“Wow,” Stiles drawled as unimpressed as he could sound. He was only a little impressed. “What else can you do Mr. Super Werewolf?”

“Let's just file the rest under miscellaneous.”

“Vague much?” Stiles yawned through the middle of the sentence. He nuzzled more firmly into his pillow and decided to let it go for the night. “I'm going to sleep,” he announced.

Peter tightened his hold on him. “Okay.”

Stiles waited for him to say something else. When he didn't, Stiles closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep. It took him a long time.

-

Peter was gone the next morning and Stiles' shoes were mysterious misplaced. He found one kicked under his bed and the other wedged into the deep recesses of his closet. His father grumbled at him and passed him the pot of coffee, eyes still partially shut.

It was going to be a long day for both of them.

Scott texted him on the drive to school and Stiles responded with, _going to school._

_**Why?** _

_I want to._

_**Why!?** _

Stiles didn't want to explain the weird feeling in his stomach. It felt like nauseous and fear was definitely tumbling around in there. But there was also the desperate need for all this weird shit to just disappear and for things to be normal. He wasn't use to wanting things to be normal and it felt alien to him.

It was complicated and he really didn't want to explain it.

John dropped him off at the front door and gave him strict orders not to leave the premises until he returned to pick him up. There was an implicit threat behind his words, a _if you fuck up again, that's it. You won't like what comes next._

Stiles slapped his shoulders and hurried to class. None of his friends would be there, all of them stuck at home and probably at least trying to figure this thing out.

He needed to step outside of it, at least for one day.

His normal day only lasted until third period when Mr. Harris caught him and handed over a detention slip.

“I see you'll be skipping lunch today instead of my class.”

Stiles bit back the urge to say _fuck off._ He saluted with the slip and instead said, “see you there.”

He had wanted normal. He should have been more specific.

-

Deaton called near late afternoon. Talia left the soft comfort of her bed and trudged down to the Clinic. Chris was several minutes late when he finally came through the door. He didn't have to say anything, she could smell the sleep deprivation and resignation. He had spent most of the night continuing Allison's education and it was paining him.

Deaton was waiting for them by the front desk, a stack of papers and the tomb from the other day in front of him. He greeted them with a tight smile and spread the pages over the counter. One of them was the image Peter had sent her the previous night, of the Stilinski boy's mark.

“Do you know what it is?” She asked him, skipping the pleasantries. She had filled him in on the three more deaths over the phone.

“It's Sanskrit,” he told them without preamble.

“Why would the the numbers be written in Sanskrit?” Chris frowned and turned his head to look at the number. “It looks like a six.”

“It's not a six, of that I am certain. As for why it's written in Sanskrit, I'm not sure. I was able to locate several victims from a previous cycle.” Deaton spread the other pages out and Talia took a moment to read them. They were all newspaper articles and police reports. Someone had taken the time over the years to digitize them and Deaton had managed to find them.

“One cycle happened in Oxford nearly seventy years ago. One of the victims was a Philology professor. It is possible that he specialized in Indo-European, though I couldn't find any information to confirm that.” Deaton explained, shifting the papers into a neat stack.

Talia pushed the pages away from herself. “That still doesn't explain why this creature would know this language.”

“I have a theory for that. This creature takes the life force of it's victims by devouring their hearts. Now, for this to work, there must be some very dark magic involved. The fact that it must mark mark its victims for this to work means that it must have some bond to them. It's entirely possible that by doing this, it takes not only their life force, but a part of them as well.”

“You're saying it took this professor's passion for ancient languages?” Chris was skeptical at best.

“Would you rather believe it's thousands of years old and has survived countless encounters with hunters and humans alike?” Deaton asked.

“What number is this?” Talia asked, patting the paper in front of Deaton.

He glanced down at it for just a moment. “It's a seven.”

-

Stiles' detention consisted of carting several stacks of outdated text books into an unused chemistry lab. He was on his third trip when the sounds of a cello playing started drifting through the halls. It was a lovely sound, clear and well played. Stiles paused to listen for a minute before turning away to go grab another stack of books.

Instead of returning to the lab, he turned around and followed the sound deeper into the school. He had never played an instrument in his life, but he was vaguely aware of where the music room was. He passed it several times a weeks when he was tempted to ditch and instead went and hid out in the library.

The hallway was empty, most of the students at lunch like they were suppose to be. Stiles followed the sound to the room and pushed the door open. The girl didn't notice him, her eyes focused on her instrument. Her fingers moved smoothly between the notes, the bow steady in her hand.

Stiles knew her, had seen her hanging around the school often enough. He wasn't entirely sure how long he had know her as Derek's girlfriend, but it had to be close to year.

Paige looked up at him and the song cut off abruptly.

“Can I help you?” She asked, lowering the bow to her side. She sat up straight and cocked her head in annoyance.

Stiles swallowed hard and felt chills break out over his skin. The number glimmered on her chest, faint but violent. 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

Talia called Peter as she and Chris left the clinic. The three newest victims put the total at six and with Deaton's information, Talia was certain Stiles was next. She slid into Chris' SUV as the phone rang. Peter had returned home early in the morning and she had been able to tell at a glance where he had come from. He hadn't said anything before climbing the stairs and disappearing into his old room.

She hadn't thought to ask him about Stiles' whereabouts. She had only thought of returning to her own bed and sleeping away the day. She was tired, more so than she had been in a long time. She wasn't used to being tired, not the way humans so often felt.

Peter picked up on the fourth ring. From the sound of it, he was in the kitchen with her husband, probably eating lunch. She didn't want him underfoot, but she also didn't want to waste time extracting the information out of him. He'd be wary and suspicious any way it went.

“Where is the Stilinski boy?” She asked and didn't bother using her alpha voice. It wouldn't work, it never did.

She expected him to ask why. He did, but first he said, “at school. His father drove him.” And then, “why?”

She hung up on him instead.

“He's at the high school,” she relayed to Chris.

He nodded and backed out of the parking lot. “Are any of your kids there today?”

She had set her children to round the clock searches of the woods and those who weren't looking were watching Martin and McCall. She had left Derek with Alison, at Chris' request when they had been called to Deaton's. She has assumed Peter was going to be keeping a very close eye on Stilinski. He obviously thought he'd be fine at school.

The creature had only attacked people when they were alone or in very small groups. As long as Stilinski stuck with the crowds, he'd be fine until they got there.

“No-” she started, then cut herself off. Her pack was large and some days she found herself shouting the wrong name at her children. She could remember when her father had done the same. She hadn't understood how he get his children names confused at the time, but as an adult, she found it was rather easy. They were always on her mind and she was constantly trying to juggling keeping up with their lives and keeping the pack from falling apart and keeping Beacon Hills from imploding around them. It was a lot to keep on one's mind. She felt she was owed a little leeway.

“Erica. She should be there. She said she was above “stalking” her classmates.”

“You calling her?” Chris asked.

Talia hummed in agreement as she pressed her phone to her ear.

-

Stiles didn't linger in the doorway for long. He hurried across the room, mind running away from him. Past experience stated that if he had found the next victim, the creature wasn't far behind. He had never managed to find someone in time to do anything.

He wasn't going to fuck this up. He wasn't going to let Paige die.

Paige watched him out of the corner of her eye as he crossed to her. She sat her bow to the side and stood. She leaned her cello against her chair carefully, then faced him head on.

“Yes?” She asked when she turned to face him, folding her arms over her chest. She waited, her impatience and something like worry growing in her eyes.

Stiles stopped in front of her, his mind racing. What could he possibly say that would get her to believe him, that would get her to come with him? What possibly configuration of words would safe her life?

“You're danger.” He winced as soon as the words came out of his mouth. Wrong.

Paige's eyes went wide, then narrow. She took a stop back, putting the chair and the cello between them.

“What are you talking about?”

He plunged on, hoping for the best. “There is a monster out there and it's planning on killing you.”

Paige snatched up her bow and pointed it right at him. He wasn't sure what she was planning on doing with it, but he took a step back just in case.

“Leave me alone.” She demanded.

“Are you not listening to me?” Stiles knocked the bow away from him. “I'm being completely serious. You're in grave danger.”

“You don't know shit.” She snapped.

“I know you're going to die if you don't come with me.”

“I'm not going anywhere with you.” Paige didn't step back like he expected her to. She got right up in his face, chest heaving with anger. “I don't know what you think you know about werewolves, but you're wrong. They're not monsters, and they would never hurt me. Derek,” she bit the word out, “would never hurt me.”

Stiles' mouth fell open. “What? You... Know about werewolves?”

“More than you ever will,” she hissed. “Now leave us alone.”

Paige turned on heel and walked a few steps away from him. HE could hear her breathing across the room, her inhales sharp and angry. She glared at him over her shoulder, and he noticed that her hands were shaking around the bow. She clenched it tight, the wood creaking under her hands.

He swallowed. “I'm not talking werewolves.”

She went still at his words.

“My mark is visible. Is yours”?

She frowned and slowly lowered the bow. Something changed in her face. The anger faded, but the fear, for herself and the others, didn't. Disbelief was there, but barely. Her mouth did something funny. It twitched, like she was trying to keep herself from saying something. Then it slipped out

“Show me.”

Stiles reached for the collar of his shirt, but hesitated for a moment. Then he pulled his shirt aside, revealing the livid bruise . He had thought it had started to fade, but it was still an painful purple. It wasn't natural and he was started to suspect that it wouldn't fade until the creature was dead, or he was. The number was darker than the rest and the color of fresh blood. It was stark against the rest of his skin.

Paige made a soft nose and he quickly pulled his shirt back into place. Her hand was splayed over her chest, like a swooning southern belle. She didn't waver though. She pulled her shirt down and he caught sight of her bra. Then his eyes were focusing on the number.

It wasn't anything like his. It was painful looking, but it wasn't a bruise. It looked like a deep scratch, like someone had raked their finger nails over her sternum. It was raw looking, but appeared to be healing. Looking at bare skin, the glow was gone. She pulled her shirt back into place a second later. The glow returned, showing through her clothes.

“I told myself that I was just scratching in my sleep. I tend to do that.”

A chill swept up his spine and he shuddered. The creature had touched him and left the mark. Had it done the same to her?

“It wasn't you.” He said and tried to press the thoughts of the creature away. Had it come to her while she was sleeping and carved the number into her skin? He didn't want to know. He just wanted it dead. “You know how people keep turning up dead? That's going to be us if we don't get somewhere safe.”

The last of the disbelief faded. “I'll call Derek. He can come and get us.”

“I don't want to wait. I want to leave, now. It doesn't feel safe here.” It didn't feel safe. He could feel a pressure building in his head. He was terrified and it was constantly growing. He didn't want to be there for another minute. “Are any of the Hales here?”

Paige thought hard. “Erica. I think I saw her during first period. We'll go find her and then we'll all go to the Hale house.”

“Erica?” That explained her sudden change at the beginning of the year. How had he not that was suspicious as fuck? “Is there anyone else I go to high school with who's a werewolf?”

“Boyd and Isaac.”

“Oh my god.” Stiles said, then repeated it. “Are you by any chance a werewolf?”

“No. I like being human.”

Paige gave one longing glance at her cello, before leading the way out of the band room. Stiles pulled the door shut behind them and followed after her. She walked quickly, seeming to know where she was heading. Her pace was rushed. It was the pace of someone walking home at night and constantly worrying that something was going to jump out of the shadows at them.

They're passing the stairs and heading towards the lunch room when they find Erica. Or, she finds them. Stiles feels someone brush against him and then Erica is standing between them, a leather jacket wrapped around her and her hands on her hips. She seems taller than the last time he saw her, but it was probably just the knowledge that she was a supernatural creature that made her seem so.

“We were just looking for you.” Paige said and then turned to head for the front door.

“Really? What a coincidence.” Erica hummed.

“You were looking for us?” Stiles asked.

“Alpha's orders. It seems you've been awfully busy getting into trouble lately. No wonder Talia wants me to keep an eye on you.”

“Well, good news. You can escort us right to the Hale house and make sure we don't get eaten.”

“Wow, lots of trouble.”

Paige held the door for them, then the three of them were hurrying down the front steps. Paige headed straight for a beat up, two door Thunderbird. Wherever she had gotten it from, it hadn't been taken care of. It was dinged in places that didn't make sense and some of the paint had been chipped away, leaving only rusty spots in its place. She had spruced the car up with a few dangling key-chains from the rear-view mirror and seat covers.

Stiles phone started to ring and he was about to answer it when Erica grabbed his hand and turned his phone off completely.

“What are you-”

“Shh,” she hissed at him, tilting her head to the side. She was utterly still, something predatory about her surfacing. Paige stopped and stared at her, keys halfway to the lock.

“What is it?” She asked and Stiles looked between her and Erica.

“I hear something,” Erica said softly.

His eyes returned to Paige and he went cold all over. The number was growing brighter, the light starting to throb.

“We need to leave, right now.” Stiles suggested and Erica nodded.

“Right now,” she agreed.

He wanted to know exactly what she was hearing. But he'd rather put as much distance between them as possible.

Paige snapped to it and finished turning the key. Then she was falling into the driver's seat. The door unlocked and Stiles climbed inside, making room for Erica. The Thunderbird was cramp and stuff with the three of them, and was even worse when Erica slammed the door shut behind them.

The locks clicked down and Paige shoved the key into the ignition. The engine roared to live and it was almost deafening in its loudness. Erica whined and clapped her hands over her ears.

“A little warning next time,” she shouted, but her voice was drowned out.

Paige threw her arm over the seat and backed out quickly. Stiles searched for the seat belt, but couldn't find one. He lurched forward when Paige braked and then shifted back into drive. Then they were speeding through the parking lot and towards the exit.

They were going close to thirty when Paige slammed on the brakes, just barely keeping them from hitting a car that had turned the corner. All three of them were thrown forward. Erica caught herself on the dash and Stiles found himself knocking his head into the rare-view mirror, the dangling knick-knacks slapping him in the face.

They all readjust themselves, then Paige starts driving again, slower this time. The person in the other car, a parent by the looks of them, was clearly cursing them out. They pointed at them as they passed.

Paige didn't start speeding again, but she didn't creep along like the speed limit demanded. They reached the front gates, and then were easing out onto the main road that wound it's way towards town a few minutes later. The main road was empty and was lined on both sides by trees. Like all of Beacon Hills, the road was surrounded by woods that led to more woods, and eventually linked up with the Preserve.

It happened in a flash of pale, gangly limbs hurtling from the tree line. Paige screamed but the sound of metal being rended from the body of the vehicle was louder. The window shattered, glass flying into the car. Stiles threw his arms over his face, missing the change that turned Erica's face from pretty to deadly. She snarled and grabbed its arm as it reached into the car, her claws digging deeply into the its flesh. Blood, black and clotted, welled up and spilled over.

It shrieked, snatching its arm back, hurting itself in its desperation to get away from her claws. Long gashes parted the flesh, leaving it flayed open.

The arm jerked in pain, then it was lashing out again. Erica cried out as claws passed over her face, leaving behind deep gouges that started to bleed heavy. She jerked back, her face fading to human, pained tears springing to her eyes and blood starting to run down her face in streams. Erica pressed against his side, arching to get away from the arm and Stiles pushed up against Paige in turn.

The car swerved once to the left, then Paige was spinning the wheel and the car was flying off the road and into the ditch near by. It didn't turn on it's side, but the ground rushed up to meet them. The car dragged, the undercarriage protesting loudly. Then the edge of the ditch met the bottom of the door and the creature screamed again.

The car came to a stop and the three of them were out the driver side door as fast as they could manage. They scrambled up the side of the ditch, putting distance between them and the car. The creature wailed behind them, caught between the car and the embankment. It scoured the metal from the car, scraped paint and rust alike off in it's desperate attempts to free itself.

Erica stumbled beside him, hand pressed to her face to stop the bleeding. He looked past her, at the creature. It had stopped struggling and was instead trying to to push the car off of it. It pushed and slowly the car started to tilt.

“What the fuck,” he whispered. It had to have gotten stronger. There was no way it had been able to do that just a few days ago. He never would have gotten out of the house if that was the case.

Erica eyes flared gold. “Come on,.”

Then she was sprinting towards the woods on the opposite side of the road. Paige and Stiles took off after her, close on her heels.

In a matter of minutes, the woods had swallowed them whole, the road no longer visible behind them. Stiles skin prickled in fear, a steady trickle of ice working its way down his spine. Erica didn't slow for a second, hurtling between trees and easily dodging low branches and jutting roots. The leaves crunched beneath her feet, but she didn't slip on them like Stiles did on every other step.

Erica made a sharp right and kept going. She didn't slow for a second. Stiles felt like his chest was going to explode and his legs were burning. He couldn't hear anything over his own breathing.

Paige slowed the further they ran, her face turning pale beneath the flush on her face. She staggered and Stiles grabbed her arm, pulling her along the best he could. Erica dipped out of view ahead of them. Then they were reaching the crest of the hill she had disappeared over and were sliding down the slick leaves on the other side and into the ditch below.

Erica had cut through the woods to reach another road and she was frantically waving down a passing SUV. It slammed on its brakes, just a few feet from hitting her. She yanked open the back door and clambered inside, leaving it open for Stiles and Paige.

Stiles jumped to his feet. Paige tried, but sank back down to her knees. Stiles pulled her up and together they made it to the car, feet tripping over each other's. Stiles slammed the car door behind them. Talia and Chris turned to stare at them in open surprise.

“Go,” Erica demanded.

Instead, Chris reached for his door.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Stiles leaned over the seat to grab at him. “This is not the time to be a hunter. This is the time to run away before it eats us.” He gestured between himself and Paige, just to get his meaning clear.

Chris didn't budge for a second, not until Paige leaned forward and put her head between her knees.

“Paige?” Erica asked, sitting her bloody hand on Paige's back. Paige didn't answer and Erica looked to Talia. “What's wrong with her?”

“There's something wrong with her heart. Chris, take us to the hospital.”

“We can't just leave it out there,” Chris gritted out, looking torn. “We can't take her to the hospital either, they won't let her leave.”

“I'm fine,” Paige mumbled. “It'll pass in a few minutes.”

Talia looked out the window. She decided after a moment. “It's our job to keep them alive.”

“Go to Scott's house. Melissa isn't working today. She'll be able to help.”

“She's a nurse.” Chris protested, but he dropped his hand from the door and started to drive.

The further they went, the more the tightness in Stiles' chest eased. They were putting distance between them and the creature and he could feel the fear draining away. They were so fucking close to losing their hearts.

“It's better than taking her to a vet,” Talia raised one eyebrow.

Chris made a left turn and then they were getting onto a road that Stiles was familiar with. He had driven it enough times, had walked it and roads bikes down it. There was something utterly surreal about going towards Scott's house after nearly getting murdered.

Paige's hand crept over and settled on his arm, squeezing hard. He patted it and looked over her at Erica. Her face was still covered in blood, but it was no longer the gore fest it had been.

“What's wrong with it?” Stiles asked.

Erica cocked her head and listened. “It's murmuring.”

-

The SUV pulled up into Scott's driveway and Stiles was climbing over Erica to run for the door. He uses his key, the one he never quiet admitted to making, to let himself in. At the sound of the door opening, Melissa peered around out of the kitchen, frowning in confusion.

“Stiles, what are-”

Talia pushed past him, Paige actually in her arms. She appeared to have absolutely no problems carrying the teenager. She headed for the living room, leaving Melissa gaping in the doorway. Erica darted after her, hiding her face as best she cold. She hadn't been able to get any of the blood off. It had dried and turned flaky, staining her skin.

“Hi, Melissa,” Chris said, pushing the door shut behind him. “I promise I can explain everything, but we need your help first.”

Melissa continued to gap, then she pointed at Stiles. “I'm calling your father,” she said shakily, before heading for the living room. She shouted for Scott as she passed the stairs and he came bounding down a few minutes later.

He froze on the steps. “Stiles?”

Stiles spread his hands open and summarized. “We're fucked.”

“Oh.” Scott reached for his phone. “I'm gonna call Allison.”

“Might as well call Lydia too.”

The door opened behind him and Stiles jumped in fear. “Bro,” Stiles said, looking at Boyd. “A little warning next time?”

He didn't pay him any mind, making a beeline for the living room. Wherever he had been lurking, it must have been close enough to notice his werewolf matriarch come in. Werewolves.

“Tell me what's wrong,” Melissa said and Stiles went to stand in the door way to watch.

Talia had laid Paige on the couch, despite Paige's attempts to shoo her away. Her color was returning, slowly but surely. Behind Stiles, Scott spoke on the phone in soft whispers. Melissa knelt next to the couch, checking Paige over with careful hands.

“Her heart is doing weird things.” Erica filled in, tilting her head to show Boyd the freshly heeled skin on her face.

It looked good as new.

“Take her to the hospital.” Melissa said, like it was the obvious thing to do.

“We can't. Just look at her, please?”

Melissa pressed her mouth into a firm line, then went to the hall closet where she kept the emergency kit. She returned with her hand assembled kit and sat down on the coffee table. Paige explained to her what as happening and Stiles walked away to listen to Scott finish his phone call.

“Allison is coming with Derek. Why is she with Derek?” Scott frowned at his phone.

“They're parents are besties.” Stiles sighed and sat down on the stairs.

“Man, what the hell happened to you?”

Scott settled next to him, pressing against his side in comfort. Melissa was going to call his father. She wouldn't go back on that threat. He couldn't imagine a way that Talia and Chris could talk their way out of this shit. He could feel dread pooling in his bones. He wasn't going to like what came next.

“I think Paige is next. Or maybe I am and she's after me. But I found her, Scotty.” And he had managed to keep her alive, at least for the mean time. That was better than all the other times.

“And it found you?”

“Yep.”

Scott didn't say anything. He threw his arm over his shoulder and pulled him into a sideways hug. “It's going to be okay, dude.” His mouth trembled into a fragile smile. “You have plenty of guard dogs now.”

Stiles snorted.

Eventually, Melissa stepped out of the living room, Chris fitfully following her. “Why the hell didn't you take her to the hospital?” She demanded, turning on him. “Do you know how dangerous it is to bring her here?”

“We were certain you'd be able to take care of her.”

“I'm a great nurse,” Melissa started. “But I do not have the equipment to ensure she's fine.”

“Her heart beat is returning to normal.” Talia assured her, hovering in the doorway.

“You better be right and you better have a damn good reason for all this.”

“We do. We couldn't protect if she remained in the hospital.”

Melissa's eyes narrowed. “Protect her from what?”

“She's not going to believe you,” Scott warned.

Melissa twisted around to face her son. “Scott, do you know something about all this?”

Scott wrinkled his nose. “No,” he lied.

“Well, Mrs. McCall, I'd be glad to fill you in. If you'd come this way,” Talia laid her hand on Melissa's elbow and guided her into the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Melissa stumbled out of the kitchen and back into the living room. Scott got up to trail after her. She stopped next to Erica.

“What happened to your face?” She asked in a bit of a daze.

“Just a bloody nose.”

“And you decide it'd be a good idea to wipe it on your face?” Melissa asked, disgust breaking through the shock that had settled on her face. She turned away and sat down on the couch next to Paige. She put her head in her hands.

Scott hovered over her, patting her on the shoulder to soothe her.

“It's okay Mom. Remember how Auntie Sil used to swear her house was haunted? This isn't that much different.”

Melissa slowly lifted her head. “What have you dragged my son into, Stiles?”

Stiles tucked himself more firmly against the banister. He tried to think of something to say, some easy way to defuse the situation. Instead, he asked, “You're not really planning on calling my father, are you?”

“John... Is not going to handle this well.” Melissa mused. She nodded to herself. “This is going to be hysterical.” She got to her feet and started searching for a phone.

The thought triggered something and Stiles pulled his phone out and turned it on. He winced as he realized that that he had several missed calls. He got up and went upstairs to call Peter back. If his father was going to get the whole picture, he really wanted someone around that would find the whole event funny.

He sure as hell didn't.

 


	14. Chapter 14

Stiles was still in Scott's room when Peter finally got there. He had been able to hear Melissa calling John downstairs and there was a bubbling in his stomach that forewarned of trouble. Scott got up from his desk chair to open the door, but he didn't return upstairs.

Peter sat on the bed next to his hip, and there was something brittle about his posture.

“What?” Stiles asked, sitting up and nudging him.

“I thought you'd be safe at school.” He said in way of an explanation.

Stiles shrugged. “What can I say? I'm good at finding trouble.”

Peter pulled him close and Stiles went easily. He was tired all over again and he wanted desperately to go back to sleep and wake up with this all over with. It felt like he'd been in mortal peril for years instead of a few days. He was quiet ready to put this whole event in his past and move on to brighter horizons. Like not being in mortal peril.

“You're spectacularly bad at keeping yourself safe.”

“So I've been told.”

After a minute of sitting there, Peter turned to him and pulled him in for a kiss. It was soft and warm, almost like an apology. Stiles didn't want an apology, especially not from Peter. It felt weird. He pushed into the kiss a little harder and turned it into something else.

Stiles pulled away when he heard the front door open. “Who is it?” He whispered.

“Derek and Allison. I think I hear Lydia's car pulling up in the driveway. Are we expecting someone?”

“My dad.” Stiles laughed a little and pulled away. He couldn't think of a single situation where things didn't go badly. “He's going to lose his shit. Like, the creature is one thing, but the fact that I'm pretty much dating a werewolf is a whole other thing.”

“We're dating now?” Peter asked causally. It was a good attempt at bad acting.

“Take that as me asking.”

“Okay.”

Stiles checked. “Okay?”

“Yes, Stiles, okay.”

“Neat.”

-

Stiles didn't go downstairs until Peter heard John's police cruiser pull into the crowded driveway. Stiles peeked out the window and could see the thunderous expression on his face from several yard. He swallowed hard and made Peter walk ahead of him.

He wasn't scared of his father. Not even when he was a little kid and he was constantly getting into trouble. (Not that he wasn't still constantly in trouble, he just thought he was better at covering it up.) Stiles was just scared of how he would take it. It was important that John take the whole supernatural thing well, otherwise they were all fucked.

Melissa had pulled John into the middle of the entry way, away from the teenagers that were crowding into the living room. Chris and Talia were with them, though it didn't look like they were helping at all. John spotted Stiles, but he didn't make any move of handcuffing him and shipping him off to some of their distant relatives. He looked back at Melissa as she took the long way around, instead of directly telling him.

The shouting started some time after Melissa said, “John, I think you should keep an open mind. It'll help.” but before Stiles got fed up and started pointing at Paige. “She's next, Dad! It, the creature, is going to kill her next.”

“How do you know that?” John demanded. He had already shot down the idea of the culprit being a creature. It couldn't be. They lived in reality and that kind of thing didn't happen.

“She marked, okay? Like I am. Like Tessa and Jeff and the twins and all the others were!” Stiles left the hallway to stand next to the back of the couch. He was still stabbing his finger at Paige, like he could get his point across with emphasize.

“It marked us both. Paige, show him.”

“I'd rather not do that in front of everyone.”

Stiles finally looked at her. Her color was back and she had pulled the green throw blanket that Melissa kept on the back of the couch over herself. She didn't look like death warmed over, but that wasn't what caused Stiles to stare.

“The number is gone.”

“What?” Paige asked and looked down at herself. She turned away from them and pulled her shirt out to look down at her own chest. “That- that's impossible.” She looked against, shifting over into a beam of light coming through the windows. “Where did it go?”

Stiles reached for Paige's shoulder and stopped when Derek, who had been hovering over her from the moment he had arrived, growled at him. It was a full body sound that sent shivers racing across Stiles' skin. Derek's eyes had gone too bright to be human and Stiles wanted to hit him. He hadn't exactly had a plan, but this was definitely on the “don't do this” side of things.

Talia barked out his name. “Derek, stop that.”

It took him a moment to respond, then his eyes faded and he settled back down. He ducked his head and gave a sheepish, “Sorry, Stiles.”

“It's cool, man,” Stiles gritted out and wondered if his father had seen that or not.

Stiles didn't dare look as John cleared his throat and asked, “What the hell is going on here?”

“We told you that it was a creature. There just so happens to be a lot of non-human people currently residing in Beacon Hills.”

Melissa sighed. “I'll make some coffee and then we can talk it out.”

-

Stiles wasn't sure what exactly they were talking about. When he tried to follow Melissa into the kitchen she shoo him back out, telling him to give his father a little space to figure things out. Stiles found himself a space on the couch and Peter sat on the arm next to him.

“What are they talking about?” He asked Peter at one point.

“What do you think they're talking about?”

Stiles let himself sink fully into the couch and turned his thoughts, with some difficulty, to the meaning behind the disappearing number. Lydia had already commandeered the few books that Allison had brought with her and was searching through them, once again, in hopes of finding something that could help them.

Stiles was pretty sure he already knew why the number disappeared.

If the creature prolonged it's own life by taking the hearts of those it claimed, what happened if it got a heart with some faulty wiring? Did the heart's health effect how long the creature's life was prolonged? Was that why it went after young adults most of all?

If Stiles was right, was it going to go after someone else to replace Paige's heart?

Stiles had saved one person, but might had just doomed another.

He rested his head against the back of the couch and tried desperately to will the answers into being. It had never occurred to him to wonder if he could deliberately trigger the weird visions or not. He hadn't wanted them in the slightest.

He sat there silently for a long time, running his thoughts around in circles and searching himself for a hint of the intuition that had been fucking him over at every turn. He found nothing but tired bones and an urge to sleep.

“Stiles?” John called to him softly from the doorway.

Stiles pulled himself out of his chair and went to him. He wasn't sure what to expect, but his father wasn't completely freaking out. His hair was standing on end though, from his father running his hands through it in frustration. John wasn't thrilled by the new turn of events.

“Stiles, you're still human, right?”John asked when it was just the two of them next to the front door.

“I'm a perfectly normal human.” Stiles said then immediately amended it. “Well, mostly normal.”

“What do you mean by mostly normal?”

“It's been a really shitty week.” Stiles said with feeling, then proceeded to try to explain all the weird things he had been experiencing.

When he was done, John returned to the kitchen for further interrogation.

Stiles went back to the couch and this time didn't resist the call of sleep. He didn't feel like he was much use awake anyway.

-

Stiles woke up after sundown to the feeling of eyes on him. He opened his slowly, but didn't startle when he saw someone staring down at him. Tessa was leaning over the back of the couch, looking straight down at him. The number on her chest was so bright that Stiles couldn't look right at it without dots starting to dance behind his eyes. Everything else about her was faded though, a washed out image that lacked movement and color.

He sat up and turned to her. She tilted her head towards the back door. She broke eye contact and started walking for the door. He could still feel eyes on him though, but a glance around the room told him that no one was paying attention to him.

He stood and followed after her, his footsteps soft against the rug. Tessa hovered by the back door until he reached it, then she passed through without a glance back. Stiles was already unlocking the back door to follow her out when someone called his name. He stopped, the door knob half turned.

“Stiles, what are you doing?” Peter asked, leaving the book he had managed to make Lydia share on the table.

Stiles swallowed hard and took at step back from the door, his heart starting to hammer. There had been something wrong with Tessa. Lydia had been sitting right there, if she had wanted to tell them something, she could have. But she had made no move to give him a message. She had done nothing but lead him to the door.

He had followed, because he trusted Tessa. He took another step back, away from the door, stark terror taking over him. The feeling of being watched increased and he looked again, searching desperately for who was watching him. He passed over the eyes of the living, looking for the ones that weren't suppose to be there.

He couldn't see them, but they were there. He could feel them surrounding them. They were so many of them, far more than the creature's body count in Beacon Hills. It claimed their life force and enslaved their souls. It claimed everything they were and ever could be.

The door opened behind him and Tessa was there again, between him and the others. This time he could see the difference in her, the ridged way she held herself. She was a doll that was being moved by a master, nothing more than a puppet that was once human.

She reached for him and her hands didn't pass through his skin like they had done when she was herself. Her grip was bruising and then she was shoving him. He lost his breath and then he was falling through the back door.

It slammed shut behind him and the wood splintered from the force. The dozens of eyes were gone, but he was left with something worse.

The puppeteer stood in the middle of Scott's back yard. The creature tittered like it was laughing at him, like it was done with this game they were playing. Like it was a human underneath all the beastly aspect of itself.

Stiles scrambled to his feet and tried to think of anything he could do as the creature approached.

-

The house erupted in chaos as soon as the door slammed shut. Peter charged the door and got knocked clear off his feet. He got up quickly and tried for the front door, only to find the same invisible barrier.

The house groaned around them and every door in the house slammed shut, one after the other like gun fire. There was a racket in the kitchen, like the drawers were being yanked open and shut and the utensils inside where being thrown about the floor. Scott ran for the windows, trying to pull it open. It snapped shut after only and inch and he barely saved his fingers.

The adults spilled into the room, looking wildly for the source of the chaos. “What's happening?”

Lydia covered her ears and shouted over the sounds that only she could hear and the sounds of the house being shaken apart. “The ghosts are being controlled. They belong to it now.” She clenched her eyes shut. “They're screaming.”

“Where's Stiles?” John demanded.

“Outside. One of them pulled him outside.”

Scott turned and went for the kitchen, leaving the rest of them to struggle with the windows and the doors. Erica threw the table at the window and it rebounded, never even touching the glass. Scott ran, something sparking in his memory. He had been reading so many of Allison's books, just hoping for something, and he hadn't even realized that any of it stuck. He hoped that it worked, that it wasn't another myth that the books were so fond of talking about.

He grabbed the container of salt from the counter and dodged the cabinet door whipping open at his head. He ducked to grab one of the knifes that had been thrown across the floor, then he was sprinting for the dining room windows. The table jolted in front of him, jumping to block his path. He tried to pass it and it was jerked in front of him again. He felt like he was being toyed with.

Scott popped the tab on salt and hoped that it would work. He tried to force himself to believe as he shook salt out into his hand and flung it across the table.

He moved and the table remained in place. Scott took the chance and scurried around it. He dumped salt on the window top and on the seal. Then he was pulling the window open and climbing through, salt scattering in his path. He tumbled onto the porch and the window shut behind him, the glass plane cracking from the force.

Scott was barely on his feet before he was running. He circled the house and didn't even give it a moments thought. The creature was holding Stiles aloft by his throat, the other clawed hand slowly trailing bloody paths along Stiles' exposed chest.

Scott sprinted at it and drove the stake knife into its exposed back.

-

Stiles dropped to the ground, coughing and with tears streaming down his face. The creature's tittering turned to wails as it spun and its hand shot out. Scott gasped and reeled back. His knees gave and he collapsed, clutching his stomach.

It clawed at its own back until the knife came out, hitting the dirt with a soft thud. Blood streamed down its back and it started advanced on Scott, no longer patiently playing with its meal. Stiles crawled to his knees, reaching for the knife. The creature didn't look back at him. He didn't matter for the moment.

It was almost upon Scott again when Stiles got to his feet. He took the knife and thrust it into the creatures side. The creature turned, but Stiles held on to the knife, yanking it out. He stabbed the creature again and then again. He kept going until the creatures blood coating his hands and splattered across his clothes.

Stiles fell back as it screamed and cried, dragging itself away from him. A pressure built inside Stiles' chest, and brightness filled the edges of his vision. He felt like the world around him was moving, but he was sitting perfectly still. The dead, finally visible and slowly growing opaque. Their figures no longer wavered, no longer lingered on the edge of visibility.

And they were furious.

They converged on the creature like vultures to a carcass and Stiles turned his face away. Its cries became louder as they tore it apart, taking their pound of flesh for all it had done to them. Meaty tears and snaps of broken bones echoed in the air and the creatures cries became softer and then they died away entirely.

Stiles opened his eyes and looked. It was everywhere and it wasn't in one piece. There was no way it could ever be in one piece again.

Tessa stood before the remains, something dark and shivering in her hand. She came to him, holding it out for him to take. Stiles reached for it without a thought. The thing in her hand was twisting wildly, alive but dying quickly. It was turning black and rotten, shriveling up into a husk of an organ.

Stiles jerked his hands back from it. Tessa offered it to him again and pointed behind him. Stiles looked and his heart lurched. He started for Scott, who was curled into himself, pain and panic written across his face. Tessa caught his arm and this time forced the heart into his hands.

It felt slimy and it gave under his fingers. Stiles tried to drop it but his hands wouldn't release it. He felt locked in place and all he could do was look between Scott and the heart in his hands.

The doors to the McCall house burst open, but Stiles didn't look to them.

The aura Stiles had seen, all golden and shiny that had surrounded Scott, was dimming. The potential for all he could be was fading away. He was fading, bleeding out in his own back yard. The frosty grass was being warmed with his blood and he was dying.

Stiles couldn't move. The heart twitched in his hands.

A veil was wrapping itself around Stiles, and he could taste the tears running down his face. The smell of roses and dirt and the sound of sobbing in his ears and a directionless, burning hatred was taking over him.

Still he couldn't move. Not until he decided. And doing nothing wasn't a decision he was willing to make.

“Scott!” Allison screamed. She reached him and dropped to her knees next to him, hands fluttering around him. She didn't know what to do, she didn't know how to help.

Melissa got to him and she rolled him over, but her hands were shaking. She pulled her sweater over her head and pressed it against his stomach, trying to cover up the gore and staunch the blood. She was trying to get him to focus on her, was demanding John call an ambulance, but there was nothing that could be done.

A choice had to be made. Death or something worse.

There was a pull in his chest, and he looked down at the heart. It was withering away but it was still pulling at him, still struggling for life. It wanted a host and it was trying to convince him it could save Scott. It could change him, as it had changed the man that the creature had once been. It could make him immortal, if for a price.

But it wouldn't be Scott.

Hands settled over his, blocking his view of the heart. He looked up, but didn't let the hands ease his hold. Peter stood before him and he was speaking but Stiles couldn't hear him. He was running out of time to decide. The paths that lay before him were crumbling like old bridges.

There was blood on Peter's face. Whatever the ghosts had done to keep them inside had been damaging. But there wasn't any wounds on his face. It was a smooth and uninjured as it always was.

Stiles sucked in a breath. Erica had healed so fast. He had taken his eyes off of her for a minute and her face was back to normal the next. Maybe he had more choices than the heart was wanting him to think. His fingers creaked, then he was dropping the heart to the ground. He crushed it under foot, grinding his heel into it until there was nothing left but a brittle husk that crunched like dried leaves.

The veil pulled away and he could think. Roses lingered in his nose, but something else was there too. Stiles' legs finally let him move and he rushed forward, falling into the little bit of room left around Scott. Peter followed him. Stiles reached out to touch Scott, a soft hand pressing against his shoulder. Allison had his hand and Melissa had his stomach covered.

Scott blinked once but didn't any anything.

“Can you change him?” He whispered and it didn't matter who he was talking to. “Can it be done?”

“The bite doesn't always take,” Talia answered from where she stood. She was keeping her distance from Melissa and Scott, was giving them space as Melissa worked to save her only son.

She didn't say, “he could die.”

He was already dying.

Melissa didn't look away from Scott, who's eyes were closed more than not. “If there is a chance, I want to take it.”

“That's not your choice to make.” Talia said, but went to him. She knelt next to him and snapped her fingers in front of his face until he finally looked at her. When she spoke, her voice was stern and ordered an answer. “Scott, do you want the bite?”

Scott's lips parted, but he couldn't get the words out. His eyes were foggy with pain. He didn't deserve this.

“Scott, you must answer me. Yes or no?”

Pine trees. The scent was pine trees.

Scott swallowed and pushed out, “yes.”

Pine trees and moonlight and bubbling laughter. And a warmth, like sunlight through the clouds, inside his chest. Family.

Talia took Scott's arm. She did it fast, a blink and it was over. She laid his arm down and they waited.

The bridges continued to crumble until only one remained. This one did not have roses at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me hell. Anyway, this fic is actually finished. I'm going to post the epilogue in the next few days then I'm retiring from fanfiction. (If you can actually retire, lol.) Thank you for sticking it out with me all this time and all the support you've all given me. It means the world to me. <3


	15. Chapter 15

Every second that they waited to see if the bite was painful. Talia set Body and Derek to carting away the body. They took it into the persevere and burned it, leaving the ashes to be scattered by the wind. It was unnecessary, but not unwelcome. The creature was gone and its hold on the souls of the departed along with it. Stiles felt the claims snapping one by one, and with it a pressure he hadn't realized he had been feeling disappeared. One by one the spirits disappeared as well.

Tessa departed with a sigh, soft and sad. But her face was full of relief. She went wherever spirits tend to go. She could have at least said goodbye first, but Stiles didn't blame her for wanting to put this life behind her. There were a lot of things he wanted to put behind himself as well.

But there were a lot more that he wanted to keep with him.

Scott passed out before the bleeding stopped. Melissa tried to shake him awake, but he didn't move budge at all. Talia stopped her with a touch.

“His heart is still beating. Give it time.”

Time continued to stretch out into impossibly long moments. And then, Scott sighed and the strain on his face faded. He slept.

-

The days that followed were surreal and too vivid. Stiles spent most of it in bed and when he wasn't in bed he was with Scott or his father. The time he spent in bed was not by himself at least. He didn't want to be alone with his nightmares.

-

Scott changed, but not as much as Stiles expected. Talia taught him as much as she could and he had the pack- his pack- to back him up. It didn't stop him from crawling in through Stiles' window late at night and shaking him awake. The first few times startled both Stiles and Peter awake and brought the whole house awake. Scott left the first time with a bloody nose and the second time he left only after he and Peter had screamed at each other for half an hour.

After that, Stiles kicked Peter out of him room before Scott arrived. Peter took it with about as much grace as could be expected. He left the room reeking of his scent, more like an angry cat than a werewolf.

Scott refused to stay in the room for long and the two of them spent the wee hours of the morning in the living room, watching bad SYFY movies and pretending that thins were normal, at least until they got use to their new normal.

Scott took to being a werewolf fast enough and something clicked in the back of Stiles' mind. He wouldn't cal it destiny, didn't believe in that bullshit himself. But there was something undeniably natural about Scott being a furry little monster.

Stiles pushed the thought away. It was easier that way.

-

Chris taught Allison how to be a hunter and it was fucking terrifying. Chris was an excellent teacher, even if his means were a little unconventional. Talia sent her puppies to help teach the hands on combat, the kind that most baby hunters didn't live through. It mostly ended with everyone limping and bruised. There were a lot of sour moods and grim glares for the first few months.

Eventually Allison graduated to rookie hunter and the strain eased.

-

Lydia told Jackson everything. He laughed in her face. She got angry and flung poisonous words at him. A message from his biological parents, something she had been dying to tell him. She had hoped it would help him in some way, would let him mourn them and move on. But they were meant to be told in kindness, not out of a viscous want to hurt him like he had hurt her.

Jackson told her not to come back. Lydia said they were done, but her heart wasn't in it.

Lydia started wearing red and hanging out in cemeteries. She started writing a book of theories on how life after death was possible. She scrapped it midway through and instead started writing down the messages the dead had for the people they left behind. She said it helped keep them quiet. Screaming helped, but she wasn't going to be the one that brought hunters down on Beacon Hills. Allison promised that she wouldn't let anything happen to her.

Lydia wasn't willing to take the risk and there was something violent behind her eyes. Lydia had learned many things by conversing with the dead and some of them were things she wasn't meant to know.

Jackson came back only after he had proof shoved down his throat, and with Danny in tow. A bad night on the town had left Jackson with a new lease on life and Danny startled to find he was a descendant of the Fae. Lydia welcomed Jackson with a sneer on her face and her arms wide open.

Lydia convinced the Court to leave Danny be, but not without using some of the darker things she had learned. The Fae gave Danny the blessing to remain outside the Otherworld, which Danny took with a grimace.

Danny was a good addition to the whatever they had all started to build together, even if most the time he claimed to be down with all things supernatural.

-

John started pulling out all the unsolved cases that had piled up over the years. He sat Talia and Chris down and demanded answers for each and everyone. The answers left a bad taste in his mouth. New crimes were seen with a different kind of suspicion. John started reading bestiaries that he and Stiles fought over more than anything. They both had their own sources for that sort of thing.

John kept Stiles on a tight leash for about a month. He started taking Stiles to the shooting range on Sundays and installed a new security system in their house. He didn't have his deputies keep an eye out for him, but he did ask that Stiles text him to let him know where he was going.

Stiles did on the stipulation that John return the favor.

John didn't stop Stiles from dating, but he did require dinner at his house twice a month and Stiles was required to carry homemade wolfsbane pepper spray. Chris borrowed the idea and soon enough almost everyone in the pack had some anti-supernatural creature pepper spray.

John started to keep a lot of potted plants around that station and little charms found their way into the bottom of desks.

A tiny terrarium of water lilies sent Jordan Parrish into a coughing fit that ended with John throwing the terrarium away and having to talk with his deputy. It seemed a lot of people in Beacon Hills were didn't know that much about themselves.

Whatever drew people to Beacon Hills, sure as hell feel the need to explain why.

-

Melissa hit her stride about a month after her world was turned upside down. She started to recognize the “miracles” that happened in the hospital all the time for what they were. A lot of Beacon Hills citizens didn't try very hard to cover up what they were. They just assumed people would look the other way.

Melissa became the default for medical treatment, leaving Deaton to his normal animals and Druid duties. Melissa's ended up buying another couch and putting plastic on it. By the end of the year, most of her furniture had plastic on it and the front hallway had to be redone. The injuries were often earned through stupidity rather than real danger, but they sure bleed a lot.

Melissa never really got use to her house being used as a knockoff hospital.

-

Paige stayed human. Talia offered just once. It was while it was just the two of them waiting for Derek to get home.

Paige shook her head. “I like being human,” she said in return to the offer.

Talia smiled and left it at that. She wasn't one to underestimate others. Human were more than capable of both great and horrible things.

-

Scott and Allison finally talked. Together, they decided on one date with Isaac. It went totally to shit midway through the movie and ended with the three of them getting a life time ban from the Beacon Hills Cinema.

They mutually decided to try again. And again. And again. Eventually, they got it right and a few months later they made it official that the three of them were going steady. And with two werewolves and a hunter involved in their triad, people tended to stare clear of being outright assholes.

-

Stiles and Peter didn't exactly make it official, not for a long time. They didn't have to for people to get the picture. They talked about it, about them. They talked about a lot of things, surprisingly. They made plans, mostly revolving around sex and occasionally making room for romance.

They made plans for a future together.

It wasn't always easy and sometimes it wasn't always enjoyable. They fought and bickered and picked fights just because they were good at being assholes. And yet it was worth it.

-

The visions, which Stiles had thought were gone for good, returned one spring night while he was driving to the Hale house. It was some important werewolf holiday involving the full moon and pack and Talia had planned a party. The vision hit him hard and out of nowhere. It was all fire and smoke and it was like hell has made itself a home inside of Stiles chest, leaving him gasping and in so much pain he couldn't think.

He only snapped out of it when his car hit a tree, crushing the front passenger side of the car inwards and leaving Stiles with a broken nose and a minor concussions. Stiles spent three minutes staring at the steam rolling out from under the hood of his car before he reached for his buckle and slid out of the car. He sat down on the side of the road, a little dirt path that wound its way through the preserve and up to the Hale house for several more minutes, trying to get his shaking hands to unlock his phone.

Erica and Boyd found him there, having been preparing for the party outside. Something about his face, possibly the blood itself, stopped Erica in her tracks.

“What did you see?” She asked as Boyd helped him to his feet.

“Nothing good,” he promised, trying to stifle the blood flow. “Can you take me to the hospital?”

She slid her arm around his waist and used his phone to call ahead to Talia.

The first fire started at the high school while Stiles was sitting in the emergency room, Peter clutching his hand like it was a lifeline. It burned the gym to the ground and spread to the pool area. Chemicals caused toxic smoke that put several bystanders in the hospital. When the fire was finally out, they found a body in the bottom of the pool.

It was the first of many.

-

Six buildings burned and more people turned up dead in bodies of water. Chris called Kate and she flew in from Florida with a backpack and a shit eating grin. She and Talia hated each other, but with the city burning down around them, they put it to the side to pick back up at a later date. John worked with them, passing on as much information as he could, the evidence building up and pointing to no one.

The visions kept coming and they left Stiles curled in on himself, unable to leave his home as the blistering heat of summer set in.

It wasn't a vision that cracked the case, but Stiles and his father huddled over a stack bunch of files and the two of them piecing the clues together, just the two of them and a pot of cold coffee to keep them going.

John put out an APB in Matt Daehler which ended with an extra crispy cop car and Matt setting Stiles' house on fire in retaliation.

Peter pulled Stiles from the house and Stiles clung to him as his house caved in on itself, smoke billowing into the night sky and his eyes stringing from the heat.

Matt didn't live to see the next morning. Chris and Kate found him they each put a bullet in his chest. The dark magic that Matt had been abusing to commit his crimes sizzled and then died. It was a fire being stomped out. It never should have started.

-

Kate and Talia never got past their natural dislike of each other, but they both feigned politeness for the sake of saving face. Kate left town shortly after Matt was buried with a promise to return for a visit. Talia sent her off with a promise of dinner the next time she was in town. Neither of them had plans on following through.

-

Stiles and John moved in with Melissa and Scott while they looked for a new house. They never actually got around to looking for another house.

-

Stiles and Scott graduated and Stiles packed up the little bit of stuff he had left and moved a city over to cram himself into Peter's tiny ass apartment and attend college there.

Their plans had a tendency to fall apart by themselves, the future they planned changing all around them. They got kicked out of their apartment after Erica threw Isaac through a wall and Stiles quit college in a fit of rage after the college rejected his scholarship and demanded out of pocket money.

The two of them traveled for a few months and ended up crossing paths with a some unsavory hunters. It was while they were on the run, struggling to get back to Beacon Hills and the safety of pack, that Peter took the opportunity and told Stiles he loved him.

“You couldn't have picked a better fucking time?” Stiles demanded and didn't say it back.

"I like to think my timing is quite romantic." Peter replied and tightened his grip on Stiles' hand. 

It wasn't until they were back in Beacon Hills, the two of them secured in the Hale house and surrounded by raging werewolves that Stiles brought it up again. They were as safe as they ever could be in a town bent on destroying itself and Stiles had figured out when was a good time to throw caution to the wind.

“I love you too, you jackass.” Stiles finally answered and that was that.

 


End file.
